Reclaimed
by Klyntaliah
Summary: When a mission goes wrong, Natasha is forced to tell Clint an outrageous lie in order to save his life. Clintasha. T for mild language. "We sent seven agents out there over the course of three months. All of them vanished without a trace."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I only own George Mayer, Drew Miller, Dmitri Kedrov, Yevgeny Polzin, Pavlev and Barsilov. Marvel owns everything else.**

* * *

Natasha woke up. She didn't open her eyes right away, just savored the sensation of relaxing in a warm cocoon of blankets.

She lay motionless for several minutes, reveling in the silence until at last she opened her eyes and looked at the clock on her nightstand. With a jolt of surprise, she realized that it was nine o'clock. She must have slept through her alarm.

Natasha sat up and pushed her blankets off, cursing quietly as the chilly air met her skin. Then she swung her legs over the side of her bed, stood up, and headed into her bathroom to take a shower.

 _olxlo_

When Natasha entered the kitchen, she was met by a welcomingly familiar sight. The other Avengers (with the exception of Thor, who was in Asgard) were all in the kitchen, assuming their familiar stances.

Steve sat at the kitchen table, so focused on the newspaper in his hand that he was forgetting to eat, and his spoonful of damp cereal was suspended in the air between his bowl and his open mouth.

Tony was sitting next to Pepper, chattering on about who knows what between bites of toast, while Pepper sipped her coffee and surreptitiously checked her phone.

Bruce sat across from Steve, making quick work of a bagel, and Clint loitered at the stove, tending a skillet of sizzling bacon, the tantalizing aroma making Natasha's mouth water. A typical Friday morning in Avengers Tower.

Tony paused in his talking when Natasha walked in, wringing out her soaked hair with a towel.

"She arrives at last! We were getting ready to send out a search party," he said by way of greeting.

"Sleepless night," she murmured as an explanation, sliding into the seat next to Steve. She felt Clint looking questioningly at her and she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

He raised his eyebrows. _Nightmares?_

She pursed her lips. _Yes._

He sighed sympathetically and turned back to the bacon.

All of the Avengers occasionally had nightmares. It was what you might call an occupational hazard. Because of all they had been through; all the pain, tension, and worry, and that which they were fated to go through again. It was just part of life as an Avenger. Some of them had nightmares more often or more vividly, but all of them did.

The Avengers Tower had many floors, but Clint and Natasha had, through an unspoken agreement, taken rooms on the same floor, and just down the hall from one another. They did this deliberately so that if one of them cried out in the night, the other could go to them.

They knew that the others suffered from nightmares, too, but the two of them shared a special bond; and also, being spies and assassins on top of their straightforward combat, their nightmares tended to be among the more graphic of the teams'. So Clint and Natasha picked rooms near each other, and normally slept with their doors unlocked in case the other needed to come in.

Natasha glanced over Steve's shoulder at the paper. He was immersed in an article that discussed the U.S. economy. She detachedly skimmed it, spotting words like 'taxes', 'political', 'representative', 'candidate'… It didn't surprise her that Steve was interested in it, even though she wasn't.

Clint came forward and set a plate full of bacon on the table. Steve was distracted from his newspaper and joined Bruce in taking a handful, neither of them heeding Clint's warning that 'it's pretty hot.' Natasha took a strip and nibbled at it as Clint slid into the chair next to hers.

"I forgot to put my hearing aids back in after my shower last night," he murmured, looking intently at her. Natasha locked eyes with him, and saw the guilt and concern in his. He was afraid she had cried out in the night and he hadn't heard her.

She shrugged. "Well, that's okay. It was just the usual, you know. Red Room."

"Was it pretty bad?" Clint asked anxiously.

She gave a noncommittal shake of her head. "Nah. I probably didn't make a sound. It was just enough to keep me up, so that's why I slept in.

Clint hmmed thoughtfully.

Natasha stood up to get herself a drink. In reality, her dreams the night before had been terrifying. She was still haunted by memories of Clint when Loki had been manipulating him; his merciless, icy blue eyes, his cold, emotionless exterior, and, mostly, the hatred she saw in his eyes when they fought. Hatred for her. She had never seen that before. And she never wanted to see it again.

But she did see it again, in her dreams. She saw him, eyes icy and full of hate. Coming towards her where she lay powerless. Preparing to kill her, "slowly, intimately, in every way he knew she feared," just as Loki had said.

She also had dreams that her enemies were coming to kill her, and ones about the Red Room at KGB. But the ones about Clint were far worse, because he was not an enemy with a reason to kill her. He was a friend. And that was the kind of dream she'd had the night before.

But there was no point telling Clint that.

Actually, based on the working of his jaw as she returned to her spot next to him, he had probably guessed anyway. They knew each other too well to be fooled by lies.

"So who's going in today?" Natasha asked aloud, hoping to distract Clint from his guilt.

"Pepper wants me down at Stark Industries today, so I guess you guys are gonna have to get by without me," Tony replied, filling a saucer with bacon.

"We'll do our best," Natasha said dryly.

"I'm gonna be down there for a little while," Bruce said. "How 'bout you, Nat?"

"Probably," she replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Probably?" Clint repeated. "I take it you haven't checked your text yet."

She frowned. "Not yet. Why?"

"Fury wants to meet us at eleven. He didn't give much detail, but it sounds pretty urgent."

"A mission?" Natasha asked hopefully.

"Looks that way."

Natasha pulled the collar of her t-shirt down over her shoulder. She lightly traced her index finger over a faint white line on her shoulder, courtesy of a serrated knife blade. "Right on time. I'm just about healed up from our last one."

"Me, too," Clint said. He glanced at the clock on the stove. "And it looks like we've got… just under half an hour to get over there."

Natasha glanced at the clock to confirm his words. "Crap." She grabbed a handful of bacon. "I'll be ready in ten," she said, heading out of the kitchen.

"K, meet me downstairs. I'm driving!" Clint called after her retreating back.

* * *

 **The Avengers in the Tower... Clint and Nat getting ready to go on a mission. Stereotypical Avengers story. Right?**

 **Or is there more to this than meets the eye? Stay tuned...**

 **Reviews are like water in the desert. Sweet, refreshing, and imaginary, because this story doesn't have any yet. You're welcome to change that! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

The drive down to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters was relaxing, and mostly silent. Natasha sensed that Clint was trying to amend for his relapse the night before by allowing her to doze rather than make conversation, and she appreciated it.

It was an overcast day, and every now and then, sprinkles of rain leaked out of the sky, but none of the showers lasted long. Natasha leaned back contentedly and watched the city speed by.

Clint pulled up in front of the base and parked. Both of them stepped out of the car and headed into the building.

Inside, it wasn't too crowded, which was not unusual for a Friday. There tended to be more work earlier on in the week, but there was still a good number of people milling around; heading to different parts of the headquarters, attending to this task or that.

Clint led the way to the elevators and tapped the button. After a moment, the doors parted and two middle-aged men alighted, conversing earnestly. Clint and Natasha replaced them in the elevator, and the doors slid shut. Clint pressed the button for the ninth floor, and the floor lifted obediently.

As the elevator swooshed past the floors, Natasha finally broke the silence that had been surrounding them. "You know, I wonder if this meeting has anything to do with the Soviets in Chicago."

"I think I've heard of that," Clint said, frowning thoughtfully. "What is it exactly?"

"This group-" Natasha stopped and shook her head. "Kind of a long story. If I'm right, Fury will explain it in the meeting."

The doors chimed open, and Clint and Natasha headed down the hallway toward one of the meeting rooms. Clint opened the door and they both walked in.

It was a smallish, comfortable room with a full glass wall at the far side that afforded a substantial view of the city. In the middle of the room was a table with two chairs at each side. Clint and Natasha took chairs with their backs to the door.

"Think a fourth person is joining us?" Clint asked, nodding at the chairs across from them.

"I don't know. I'm just surprised Fury's not here yet," Natasha responded, checking her watch. "He's always on time."

She had hardly spoken when the door opened and Nick Fury and Maria Hill entered.

"Agent Romanoff. Agent Barton," Fury greeted as he and Hill took their seats. "I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long. Hill was just filling me in on a new development in a case." He leaned back in his chair. "A case which is about to become your case."

"You have a mission for us, sir?" Clint asked.

"Indeed I do. I've asked Hill to direct this meeting because I feel that she has more knowledge about it than I do. Hill?"

Hill cleared her throat. "Is either one of you familiar with the situation of the Soviets in Chicago?"

"I've been keeping up with it, yeah," Natasha said.

"I haven't really," Clint admitted. "Tell me."

Hill said, "It started a few months back when we started getting reports about unusual crimes in Chicago. In every case, there was a vicious attack on a person or persons who had no enemies, no criminal record, nothing that would warrant an attack like this. In every case, the murder was investigated, but the killers covered their tracks so well that no leads ever came up. The police were stumped, as were we."

"And there's nothing that links the victims?" Clint asked. "Ethnicity, background… nothing?"

"Not as far as we can tell," Hill confirmed. "After several incidents, we sent one of our agents to Chicago to scope out the situation. We haven't heard from him since. We sent another agent. He disappeared too."

Hill sighed. "We sent seven agents out there over the course of three months. All of them vanished without a trace. And none of them were operational long enough to give us any info about the killings. Except one.

"Last night we lost contact with Agent Mayer, who went out last week. But before he went missing, he sent us a clue."

Hill stood and went to the wall, on which was mounted a large computer screen. She opened up a blurry photograph of a man taken from a distance.

Hill turned. "The group has a distinctive method of killing that is very efficient and violent. Their technique led many to believe that the KGB is behind this. That's why we've been referring to the case as 'Soviets in Chicago.' That was just a theory, though. Until now."

Hill turned back to the screen and dragged the corners of the image outward, zooming in on the man's face.

Natasha sucked in her breath.

Clint looked sharply at her. "Nat?"

"Dmitri Kedrov," she said in a low voice.

"Correct," Hill said gravely. "One of KGB's most skillful assassins, loitering in Chicago the same day Mayer disappeared. It may be our only lead, but it's the only one we needed."

There was a brief silence. Then Clint said, "Fury said you just updated him on a new development."

Hill nodded. "Up till now, the slaughters have all been small. One or two people, three in some cases. But last night, there was a massacre.

"The bodies of ninety-three people were found in an unused warehouse late last night. By the time they were found, the criminals had already fled the scene. The police are looking into it, but it's just like all the others: no traces."

"You want us to go down there," Clint guessed.

"We're done sending our subordinate agents to their deaths," Fury said. "If anyone can handle this, it's Strike Team Delta."

"No," Clint said suddenly.

The others looked at him in bewilderment.

"With all due respect, Director Fury, could you send Stark or Rogers? Or someone else from Strike?"

"I could," Fury mused. "But Agent Romanoff is very familiar with how KGB functions. You two work well together, and I don't know of anyone who could do the job as well as you can."

"I'm flattered, sir, but we'll have to decline," Clint shot back.

"What are you talking about, Clint?" Natasha said, perplexed and slightly irritated. "Of course we'll go."

Clint clenched his jaw and avoided her questioning gaze.

"Director Fury. This Kedrov person. Natasha knows him. There are probably other soviets she knows in Chicago, and who know her."

Clint stood up and pressed his palms into the table, leaning earnestly towards Fury. Urgency was clear on his face and in his tone.

"Director, you've seen what they do to defectors. Natasha is one of the most well-known defectors. If they got ahold of her, there's no telling what they'd do to her."

"Believe me, Agent Barton, I'm well aware of the risk involved," Fury said forcefully. "There will be hostility, but there's hostility towards you on every mission."

"Hostility," Clint repeated scornfully. "This is not just about hostility. This is about revenge. And coming from a notoriously violent organization with personal reasons for wanting Natasha to have a slow, torturous death. We are not going to Chicago. Sir."

"We'll do it," Natasha said quickly. Clint looked at her in horror, but she ignored him. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible," Hill replied. "We already have a cover for you." She passed Natasha a file. "You're Jeremy and Rachel Lee, newlyweds who are in Chicago on your honeymoon."

"Great," Natasha said. "We'll try to be out of here by five-thirty at the latest."

"Natasha, no," Clint said vehemently.

"Anything else we should know?" Natasha went on.

"All the information you need is in that file," Hill said, nodding at the folder in Natasha's hands.

"Then I think we're done here," Natasha said, getting to her feet.

"Director," Clint said desperately. "I'll go to Chicago. But not Natasha. I won't allow her to go."

"That's not for you to decide, Barton," Natasha told him sharply. Then she turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Clint to trail out in her wake.

* * *

 **Roses are red,**

 **Violets are blue,**

 **I'm bad at poems,**

 **Leave a review! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

The ride home was dead silent. And not the companionable silence that had accompanied them on their journey out. This silence was stiff with tension, like they were sitting on tenterhooks. Clint was working his jaw again the way he sometimes did when he was frustrated, and Natasha knew he was working hard to come up with an argument that would convince her not to go to Chicago. But she was determined to go through with it and get to the root of the issue.

To pass the time, Natasha looked through the file Hill had given her. The first thing she found was false IDs, licenses, and passports for 'Jeremy and Rachel Lee.' There was also a comprehensive document on the Lees' false backstory, in case questions were asked. S.H.I.E.L.D. had done a thorough job.

On another page, she found a complete list of the killings achieved by the soviets in Chicago over the past three months. It included names, photos, and information about the victims, and described their murders. It was just as Hill had said: nothing seemed to link them together.

Another page had a list of the agents S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent out to Chicago, and included the circumstances of their disappearances. Natasha recognized most of their names, but she wasn't sure she'd met any of them personally, except for Mayer.

She flipped through several more pages, finding lots of information that could prove to be invaluable on their mission. As always, S.H.I.E.L.D. had left no stone unturned.

They were nearly back to Avengers Tower when Clint finally broke the silence. "Tasha…" he began.

Natasha could tell by his tone that he meant to argue with her. "This file has all the information we need. Once we get packed, we're good to go," she informed him.

"Tasha, listen to me."

"What time should we get a flight for? Maybe four-thirty?"

"Stop changing the subject, Romanoff. We need to talk about this."

"I don't see that there's anything to talk about," Natasha answered. "Fury gave us a mission, and we're going to complete it. That's all there is to it."

"No, _I'm_ going to complete it. _You're_ not going to be involved in any part of it."

"Dammit, Barton, would you stop mother-henning me? I know how to fend for myself," Natasha said sharply as they pulled up in front of the tower.

"I know, but I want to discuss this," Clint stated.

"There's nothing to discuss," Natasha said. "I get that you're worried, but I am going to Chicago."

She got out of the car and marched into the building. She'd managed to postpone their confrontation, but she knew it was only a matter of time before Clint brought it up again. He wouldn't go down without a fight.

 _olxlo_

Natasha dragged a suitcase out of her closet and opened it in the middle of the floor, making a mental list of everything she needed to pack: clothes, weapons, first-aid kit, communication earpieces… the list went on. She had started pulling clothes out of her closet when Clint walked in.

"Natasha, If they get a hold of you-"

"We won't let them," Natasha replied distractedly.

"You know how dangerous this is," Clint said, leaning his shoulder against the wall.

"Well, like Fury said, all missions are dangerous."

Clint shook his head. "Yeah, but this is different. And you know it."

Natasha sighed. "No, Clint, it's not. We've had plenty of run-ins with KGB before."

"The KGB has so many branches, though. We didn't know if any of them were people you knew personally from your time there."

"We always knew it was a possibility."

"Right, but it's different knowing for sure." Clint sighed. "Look, Nat. There's no point avoiding it. You have a bigger chance of dying this time than-"

Natasha dropped the shirt she was holding and rounded on him. "I have a bigger chance of dying? A _chance_ of dying? Clint, people have already died, and they're going to continue to die unless we put a stop to this!"

"I know, but why don't you let someone else do it?"

"No!" Natasha snapped. "Like Fury said, I have vast knowledge about the KGB since I used to be part of it. My being there could be invaluable. And I'm not going to let innocent people die just because your feet got a little cold!"

"I know, I know." Clint exhaled slowly. "I'm just worried about you, Tasha."

Natasha sighed. "Well, I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, I just – I have a bad feeling about this trip."

"Well, listen to this." Natasha stepped forward and grasped him by the shoulder, forcing him to look her straight in the eye. "I'm going to be just fine. Know how I know?" She half-smiled. "Because you'll be there. And you always have my back."

Clint nodded, studying her face closely.

"Look, it's not going to be a long trip," Natasha went on. "All we have to do is get down there, figure out what their game is, and keep our eyes open for Mayer and the others. Then we report back to Shield with our findings, and figure out a plan to go back with the whole gang and get rid of those suckers for good. I think we can handle that. Right?"

Clint nodded again.

"Good." Natasha gave him a playful shove towards the door. "Now go get packed."

Clint forced a smile and trudged out of the room.

When he was gone, Natasha reflected on what had passed between them. She'd spoken with conviction, knowing that Clint needed the extra reassurance, but the truth of the matter was (though she would never have admitted it to Clint), she was pretty nervous herself. While her worry had by no means weakened her resolve to go to Chicago, she knew that if especially this branch of the KGB got their hands on her, the results would be disastrous. Not to mention painful.

She wasn't going to tell him she was nervous, but he knew her so well, there was a good chance he already knew. This theory was strengthened when she thought back to the way he'd been studying her as she spoke. Natasha frowned. She hadn't liked it. It was almost like he was trying to memorize the way she looked, in case something happened to her.

Natasha shook her head and tried to push the disturbing thought from her mind as she went back to packing her clothes.

* * *

 **Hmm, little more angst in this one.**

 **Much like being held at gunpoint, reviews make me write faster. (:**


	4. Chapter 4

"Wow, Soviets in Chicago, huh?" Tony said as they ate lunch. "You know, I've been waiting for Fury to give you that one. Russians, KGB assassins… sounds like it's right up your alley, Widow."

Bruce frowned. "KGB? Just make sure you don't run into anyone you knew from there."

"Well, I know for a fact there's at least one familiar face down there," Natasha admitted.

"Really? Then you should watch your step, Tasha," Steve said, his brow furrowed. "From what I've heard, KGB doesn't take defections lightly."

"So I hear," Natasha said, forcing a smile. She was getting fed up with hearing about how dangerous this mission was for her. She was already feeling uneasy about it, and the constant reminders only made it worse.

"Where's your partner in crime?" Tony asked.

Natasha frowned and glanced around the kitchen. It was a perfunctory gesture, as she already knew Clint wasn't in the room. "I don't know. He was about to start packing last I heard."

"He's probably under his bed, hiding from the big bad soviets," Tony suggested lazily, spearing another bite of salad with his fork.

Natasha glowered at him.

"Ah! Speak of the devil," Tony slurred, looking up.

Natasha turned as Clint walked into the room.

"Hey, Hawk Boy! Excited about your new assignment?" Tony called.

"Not sure if that's the word I'd use," Clint said, his eyes flickering towards Natasha. He added to Tony, "I thought Pepper wanted you down at Stark."

"Yep! She let me home early," Tony explained.

"Well, her gain is our loss," was Clint's comment.

"So what time are you two leaving?" Steve asked.

Clint and Natasha looked at each other.

"Five o' clock sound okay?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah, that's fine," Clint said.

"Good, cause I already got the tickets," Natasha smirked. Then she licked her lips and added more seriously, "They're round trip tickets. We'll be there for one week."

Clint sent her a grateful look of relief.

"You finished packing?" Natasha asked him brightly.

"Yep. How 'bout you?"

"All set."

"Great." Clint filled a glass with water before sitting down at the end of the table nearest to Natasha. "We got three hours to kill before we head down there. How do you think we should spend it?" he asked quietly.

"Reading the file Hill gave us," Natasha said instantly. "There's a lot of data in there that looks like it might come in handy."

"Good point," Clint said soberly. "We need all the help we can get."

 _olxlo_

"How much longer till we board?" Clint asked Natasha as they sat in the airport lounge.

She consulted her watch. "About ten minutes."

"Good," Clint said. Natasha glanced at him and noticed that he was fidgeting, full of nervous energy.

"Loosen up, Barton," she said. "It's just another mission."

"Yeah," Clint said, sounding unconvinced. But he stopped fidgeting.

Natasha's attention was caught by a figure leaning against the wall some distance away. He was a middle-aged man with black hair, wearing dark clothes and sunglasses. He appeared to be studying them closely.

Natasha leaned forward and rested her hand against her face, covering her mouth.

"Don't look now, but I think we got a secret admirer," she murmured.

She felt Clint tense up next to her, his nervous energy replaced by calm focus. "Where?"

"Between two and three o' clock," Natasha replied, eyes casually scanning the room before her as if bored.

Clint lifted his phone and pretended to be texting as he peered at the suspect from the corner of his eye.

After a moment he lowered the phone. "You know him?"

"I don't know for sure. The sunglasses make it hard to tell."

"We'll keep an eye on him. Spells," Clint intoned, barely moving his lips as he spoke.

Natasha nodded to indicate that she understood the code word.

On missions, when there was a person they needed to keep tabs on, they would sometimes take turns, or, 'spells', watching the subject so as not to be too obvious. Natasha always went first, and would say 'switch' to let Clint know when it was his turn.

Natasha kept her eyes fixed on the wall ahead of her, watching the man closely out of her peripheral vision. He definitely seemed to be scrutinizing them, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

Then there was a flurry of movement, but Natasha couldn't tell what he was doing. It occurred to her that he might be drawing a weapon, and her fingers itched for her gun. But all her weapons were in her suitcase, where she'd taken very careful and definitely illegal steps to ensure that she could smuggle them past security.

Natasha risked a glance at the subject, and saw that he was tapping at his phone. He raised it to his ear.

"He's making a phone call," she informed Clint softly.

"Can you hear him?" he asked.

Natasha closed her eyes and focused all her energy on listening. Being a spy, her hearing was unusually sharp, but the man was speaking in very low tones. He was too far away from her, and the added background noise of people hurrying through the airport, cashiers ringing up purchases in shops, and voices making announcements over loudspeakers, was such that all she could make out was the very faint mumble of the man's voice. And she couldn't make out any words at all.

"No," she said finally, opening her eyes. "Switch. Do your thing."

By that she meant read the man's lips. Natasha was decent at lip-reading, but that was really Clint's area of expertise.

Natasha lowered her head and leaned back so Clint could see around her. For a moment, Clint said nothing, and she could sense his confusion. Then he chuckled softly.

"Russian," he said quietly.

"What a coincidence," Natasha said sarcastically. "Tell me."

" 'Yes, sir, I'm positive,'" Clint translated. "There's a plane leaving for Chicago in at five o' clock. I think they're taking it.'"

Clint paused.

"Clint?" Natasha said hastily.

"Hang on, the guy on the other line's talking. 'Yes, I know, sir. Once they're in the city, we can act. The main thing to remember…"

"Clint?" Natasha hissed impatiently. "Clint!" She elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ouch! I know, Nat, he's just scratching his nose and his hand is blocking- there we go. '-was on Washington Street. Yes, sir. I'll keep you updated.' And he just hung up," Clint said.

Natasha frowned. " 'Washington Street.' That sounds familiar."

"You know, I think it's the name of the street where that warehouse was, where the massacre took place," Clint said suddenly.

"That's it!" Natasha agreed.

Clint stood up. "Well, we should probably board now."

Natasha stood as well. "I have a feeling this mission isn't going to be boring," she stated with a grin.

"Me, too," Clint said. "I hope we're both wrong."

Natasha sighed. Usually Clint looked forward to missions, even the tense and dangerous parts.

"Don't worry so much, Hawk," she said. "The week'll be out before you know it. And in the meantime, just relax. We're gonna be fine."

Clint forced a smile as they headed towards the plane.

* * *

 **The plot thickens...**

 **Haiku about reviews:**

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 **They make my day so happy.**

 **Reviews rock so yeah. (:**


	5. Chapter 5

After the two-and-a-half-hour flight from New York to Chicago, Clint and Natasha disembarked from the plane and exited the Chicago airport. As they stood outside on the sidewalk, trying to get the attention of one of the many taxi drivers, Clint said to Natasha, "You got us a hotel room, right?"

"Yeah. The hotel's about ten minutes from here," Natasha replied absently.

"Lower your voice, Nat," Clint admonished quietly, glancing around them for signs of Russian spies. "Based on what we heard, they're practically guaranteed to have someone watching us on this end."

"Well, the distance to our hotel isn't exactly classified information," Natasha muttered back pragmatically, trying and failing to flag down another taxi. "I didn't even say what it's called."

"It's enough information that they could figure out where it is," Clint returned.

"Well, even if they could figure it out, they wouldn't know where Natasha and Clint are staying. They would only figure out where Rachel and Jeremy are staying. We're in disguise, remember?"

"Yeah, and there's no way a league of soviet superspies could see through a few smudges of makeup," Clint scoffed. "And there's also your hair, Nat. Honestly? It sticks out like a sore thumb. I still think you should have gone with a wig."

"Plenty of people have red hair, Clint," Natasha reminded him patiently as she finally succeeded in signaling a taxi.

They reached their hotel, checked in, and went to their room, which was on the second floor.

Clint opened the door of their hotel room, and Natasha followed him through the small living area and into the bedroom at the back.

"You got us a suite with one bed," Clint observed with a grin.

Natasha spread her hands out innocently. "Well, what else was I supposed to do, get a room with a bunk bed? We're supposed to be on our honeymoon, Clint. It would look suspicious if we got a room with two separate beds," she said, returning his goofy grin in spite of herself.

Clint shrugged. "Well, this wouldn't be the first time we've shared a bed for a mission," he pointed out.

"Yeah. Remember that one time when we had to share a bed in Alaska?" Nat said, smiling reminiscently. "Although that was actually nice because that building was drafty. And you were warm." She made a face. "Would have been a lot better if you hadn't kept hoarding the blanket, though."

Clint laughed, and Natasha was pleased to note that he was starting to sound more like his normal self.

"Well, lucky for you, you won't have to worry about that this time," Clint said. He pointed into the other room. "That couch folds out into a bed. I'll take it."

"Oh, good," Natasha said. "Hey, I'm gonna unpack my weapons. Why don't you order some food? I'm starved."

"Sure," Clint said. "How 'bout Chicago pizza?"

"Now you're talking," Nat said with a grin.

As Clint went into the other room, Natasha got her weapons out of her suitcase. She had brought five pistols and four knives. She'd been tempted to bring an assault rifle, too, but decided not to so she could save room in her suitcase for other supplies.

Natasha secreted a pistol and two knives on her person, then hid the others around various parts of the room, especially around her bed. It was the only way she could feel secure as she slept.

When Natasha came out of her bedroom, Clint was just hanging up the phone. "One large pepperoni pizza is on its way," he told her.

"Great," Natasha said. She rubbed uncomfortably at her face. "My face feels stiff. I'm gonna take off this stage makeup."

Clint looked shocked. "No! Leave it for now, we might see someone else tonight."

"Okay, fine," Natasha said. "So as long as we're leaving it on, why don't we go work out a little? I think there's a gym downstairs."

Clint looked horrified. "No, we're on a mission! What are you going to suggest next, that we try out the swimming pool?

Natasha shrugged. "Actually I was gonna say the hot tub."

Clint groaned. "Nat, we're undercover."

"That's the point," Natasha said. "We're supposed to be on our honeymoon. Don't you think it would look weird if we just sat cooped up in here all the time?"

"No, no one will notice," Clint insisted. "The only people tracking our movements are our enemies. And they already know we're not on our honeymoon so it doesn't matter."

Natasha sighed. She and Clint never argued this much on missions. They usually agreed on practically everything, because Clint was just as willing to take risks for the mission as she was. But this time, he was too worked up about the whole Dmitri Kedrov thing. She was starting to wish she'd pretended not to recognize him.

"Okay, where's the TV remote?" Natasha asked in resignation.

Clint found it, and they both plopped down on the couch to watch TV while they waited for their pizza.

 _olxlo_

There was a knock at the door. Natasha started to get up, but Clint stopped her.

"I'll get it."

"Why? You think the pizza delivery boy is a Russian assassin in disguise?" Natasha hissed as Clint opened the door.

Whatever Clint thought, the pizza delivery boy was just a pizza delivery boy. So after paying him, Clint and Natasha sat down to enjoy their meal and discuss what their next move should be.

"I think Washington Street is definitely our priority," Natasha said.

"Yeah, and it's really our only lead right now," Clint added.

Natasha picked up her phone and swiped at the screen. "So, first thing tomorrow," she said.

"Sounds good," Clint agreed.

"Looks like the warehouse is only a couple miles north of here," Natasha said, looking at her phone.

"Can we take a bus?" Clint suggested.

"Good idea," Natasha replied, looking up where the nearest bus stop was.

After dinner, Clint and Natasha watched TV for another hour or two before going to bed. Neither of them fell asleep very quickly, because both of them were considering every aspect of their mission in their head.

* * *

 **Sorry if this was totally boring! The next one will have more a lot action, and possibly subtle hints of romance for our favorite assassins... x)**

 **I've been getting some good reviews on this - keep them coming! I'm glad you all like the story so far!**


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha woke up. She groggily squinted at her luminous watch, wondering vaguely what had awakened her at two-thirty in the morning. Then she heard it – a soft thumping sound that seemed to be coming from the hotel room door.

She sat up, listening intently. The thumping continued, paired now with a faint rustling. Natasha slipped her hand under her pillow for her gun.

Then, suddenly, she heard a muffled voice call out.

"Tasha! Natasha, wake up!"

It was Clint, and he sounded frantic.

Pulse quickening, Natasha ran to her bedroom door and cocked her gun. She peered carefully through the doorway, but the room beyond was pitch-black.

Clint groaned. "Tasha," he said again. "Please… no…"

An idea sprang to Natasha's head, and she stepped quickly into the room and flicked on a lamp.

Clint was asleep in his bed, blankets tangled around him as he thrashed feverishly.

Quickly, Natasha crossed the room and knelt on the bed next to him.

"Clint," she whispered, shaking his shoulder. "Clint, wake up."

Clint groaned again. Then, without warning, he lurched forward and wrapped his large hands around her neck, cutting off her airway. Natasha choked and snatched at his fingers.

"You killed her," he gasped. His eyes were wide open, but glazed with stupor. "You killed Natasha."

Natasha yanked at his wrists, but he was too strong for her, and she knew it was impossible to break free of his strong grip.

So she kneed him in the stomach. Hard.

Clint's breath snagged in his throat and he released her. Natasha gasped for air as he shook his head, blinking the haze from his eyes. Then he noticed her presence, and stared disbelievingly.

"Natasha?" he mumbled uncertainly.

"It's me, Clint," she said reassuringly.

Clint blinked. Then he reached forward and gripped her by the arms, as if to ensure that she wasn't a mirage.

His expression relaxed. "You're alive," he breathed. "I had a dream, and I thought-" he broke off abruptly and buried his face in his hands, massaging his forehead.

Natasha bit her lip. She knew Clint had dreamed of her death before, but she was sure it was the stress of the mission that had made this time so much worse.

"It was just a dream, Clint. I'm here," she told him, touching his shoulder.

After a moment he lifted his head. While his eyes were dry, she could see the emotion in his face.

"I scared you, Nat. I'm sorry," he said.

Nat blinked. She hadn't even realized it was true until he said it.

"It was just… so real," Clint went on. "And for a minute, I thought I'd never…" his voice cracked slightly, and he pressed his lips together.

Then he sighed. "I know it's stupid," he said. "It's just – now that they know we're in Chicago, I'm just dreading the moment when they find us. Find you," he added.

"It's not stupid," Natasha said firmly. "I underst-" she stopped suddenly and raised her head, sure she had heard something. Clint straightened and looked towards the door.

Sure enough, it came again more distinctly; the soft shuffling of footsteps creeping towards their door.

Natasha slipped off the bed, but Clint grabbed her wrist tightly. "What are you doing?" he hissed, panic in his eyes. _"Don't open it!"_

Natasha tried to pull her hand away. "I'm not, I'm just taking a look," she whispered back.

Clint hesitantly loosened his hold, and she pulled away and hurried toward the door. Standing on tiptoe, she peered through the peephole.

The dimly lit hallway was empty, and completely silent.

"They're gone," she murmured to Clint. With the intention of catching a glimpse of the person before they vanished, she unlocked the door.

Clint sucked in his breath. "Don't-"

But the door was already open, and Natasha looked up and down the hallway but saw no one.

"Nat!" Clint exclaimed. "They could have been hiding just out of view!"

Natasha raised her pistol. "Why do you think I brought this?" she asked, just as her gaze fell on a small white object just outside the door.

"They could have shot you before you even saw them," Clint persisted as she bent down to pick up the parcel.

"That's not what they came for," she said, turning. She raised the paper-covered object. "They came to leave us this."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "That was outside the door?"

"Yep."

"Careful," Clint cautioned. "We don't know what it is."

"We're about to find out," Natasha replied, ripping the paper off.

Underneath was a dark, cylindrical object. Natasha turned it over in her hands, studying it.

Natasha couldn't see what Clint, who was still sitting on the bed, could see. She couldn't see the timer on the opposite side of the object with the descending digits: 5… 4… 3…

All she saw was Clint falling over himself to reach her, a look of pure terror in his eyes. And at the same moment, she felt the object ticking faintly.

Adrenaline ripped through Natasha as she hurled the bomb towards the wall, but it was too late. The timer hit zero before it ever left her hands.

But it flew through the air, hit the wall, and fell to the ground, never going off.

Natasha heaved a sigh of relief, trying to calm her wildly throbbing heart.

"It's a dud," she began, and then Clint was beside her, eyes wide with fright, and he was wrapping his arms tightly around her.

Once she got over her initial shock, Natasha relaxed and leaned into his chest, feeling his heart pounding crazily under her palms. The spontaneity of the moment struck her, and she realized Clint was as surprised by his actions as she was.

He pulled away, still gripping her by the shoulders. "Don't _ever_ scare me like that again," he said forcefully, his intense gaze boring into her eyes.

Natasha nodded.

Clint sighed and let go of her. "Seriously, Romanoff. You've died like three times tonight. Let's not make that number any higher." Without waiting for a response, he looked towards the bomb and cautiously approached it.

He nudged it over with his foot, exposing the timer. The counter remained at zero, but the device was dormant.

"Now why would they plant a dud? Just to scare us?" Clint wondered aloud. "If so, it worked."

Natasha looked down, and her gaze caught the scrunched piece of paper she'd pulled off the bomb. She picked it up and smoothed it out, revealing two lines of print, written in Russian. Clint came and read them over her shoulder:

THE NEXT ONE WILL BE REAL

STAY AWAY FROM WASHINGTON STREET

 _olxlo_

After the night's events, Clint was loth to leave Natasha's side, as if she would disappear if he let her out of his sight. But, after much persuasion, he was finally convinced to go back to his room.

What Natasha didn't know as she settled back under her covers, trying to placate her rattled nerves, was that Clint never went back to bed. Instead, he stood leaning against the door all night long; ears alert for even the faintest of noises, and an arrow fitted to his bow.

* * *

 **Limerick about the review box:**

 **I know of a certain box,**

 **That's lonely til someone talks.**

 **If you type a review,**

 **Its day won't be blue,**

 **So leave a review, and fox?**

 **(Not sure about the ending. This one kinda got away from me sorry my brain is fried.)**


	7. Chapter 7

Due to the intense and exhausting activities of the previous night, Natasha slept in again that morning. She finally awoke around nine o' clock to the low rumble of Clint's voice coming from the next room. She heard him mention bombs, and guessed he was giving a report of their latest doings to S.H.I.E.L.D.

After allowing a moment for her head to clear, Natasha got up and dressed, her stomach already starting to gripe about its emptiness. After she finished dressing, she opened the door to Clint's room.

When she came in, he looked up at her from the opposite side of the room, where he was just starting to fold his bed back into a couch.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," he greeted her with a little smile.

"Hi. Were you giving a report? Or just talking to yourself?" she inquired archly.

"I contacted Shield," Clint replied. "Just thought they might be interested to hear about what happened last night.

"Did you mention the creep at the airport?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah," Clint said. "But I didn't give them all the details. You just can't be too careful with long-distance communication."

Natasha nodded in agreement. "Well… I'm starving. I'm gonna go put my face back on so we can go downstairs and eat," she stated.

She returned to her room and rifled through her crowded suitcase until she located her makeup container. She brought it into the bathroom and set about strategically applying the makeup to her face. It was nothing too extreme; just little touches here and there that morphed the shape of her features, altering her appearance enough that she was unrecognizable.

She had learned to do her appearance-changing makeup years before for missions, and now she was an expert at it. It was a skill that came in handy off missions too, for playing pranks on her teammates.

Clint joined her a few minutes later, and she helped him apply his makeup, too. She had already taught him the basics, but both of them knew that she was better at it, so he let her do his. Finally they left their hotel room and headed down the hallway.

As they stood on the elevator, descending to the ground floor, Clint said, "This is probably a pointless question, but… I don't suppose the 'welcome to Chicago' present from our assassin friends has changed your mind about going to Washington Street?"

"Nope," Natasha replied simply, just as the elevator doors opened.

Clint nodded in resignation; he had expected nothing less from her.

As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, they got into character, pretending to be a lovesick husband and wife on their honeymoon. They pranced cheerfully to the buffet tables, arm in arm, and made their way slowly through the line, flirting with each other and helping each other select their food. Finally, they reached the end of the line and crossed the room, sitting down with their breakfast at a table for two in the corner.

It was nothing they hadn't done before, jumping into the roles of a romantic couple. But Natasha could tell that this time, Clint was finding it a bit difficult to forget his worries about their current mission and play the part of 'Jeremy Lee.'

Leaning across the table towards him with a false grin, Natasha said, "Your smile looks like it needs ironed, Jeremy."

Clint blinked into consciousness and tried to make his smile more natural.

"That's a little better," Natasha smirked.

Clint smiled back weakly, then seemed to sink back into his brooding again.

"Hey." Natasha reached forward and took both his hands, which were resting idly on the table. "Look at me, Clint."

Clint reluctantly met her eyes.

"Listen, you're waay overthinking this situation. When have we ever not pulled through on a mission?"

Clint looked wordlessly down at their clasped hands again, but Natasha felt the tension in his relax slightly. She smiled and rubbed his hands gently with her thumbs.

"Look, even if I did get captured by those soviet maniacs," she continued. "I know you'd break me out. You always do. That's why I can always count on you."

When he still didn't reply, she continued. "There are plenty of incredibly skilled agents at Shield. I've worked with some of them. They're all amazing. But you know what? I don't choose to work with any of them. I don't want to work with any of them. I choose you."

Clint's tight face slackened a bit; she could tell he was listening closely.

"And do you know why I choose you? It's because I know that out of all of those people; George Mayer, Drew Miller, even Steve, _you're_ the one who always has my back, no matter what.

"And I don't mean you don't ever slip up. Because sometimes, inevitable mistakes are made; mistakes that no one could find a way around, that there _is_ no way around. But the point is, if I'm with you, I know you'll never stop trying. No matter how hard things get, you always keep looking for a way out until you find one. And you've never failed to. And I know you never will."

She watched Clint's face closely. He remained silent for a few seconds, then at last lifted his head to look at her.

"That's a lot of trust you're putting on me, Romanoff," he said quietly.

"Which I know you'll live up to. Just wait and see."

She could tell her words were calming him – he almost smiled – but then he tensed again and glanced apprehensively around the small diner, clearly worried about people listening in. "Are you sure this is the right time to be discussing this?" he murmured.

Natasha sighed wistfully. She had been so close. At least she'd made him forget his worries, however briefly. "You're right," she said finally. She pulled her hand out of his to look at her wristwatch. "Speaking of time, it's after ten. We've got a bus to catch."

They both stood up and headed towards the elevators, needing to collect some supplies before leaving the hotel. As they walked, Natasha felt Clint's arm slip around her, his hand settling on her waist. In response, she put her arm around his back and rested her head against his shoulder.

She smiled thoughtfully to herself. She knew he was only doing this for the disguise, that he couldn't feel anything for her, but his warmth and closeness still felt comforting. And maybe, just maybe, her pep talk really had helped him. Maybe, from now on, he would look at this mission more brightly.

* * *

 **Not much happening in this chapter... just cuteness. x) Prepare for a major plot development in chapter eight...**


	8. Chapter 8

The bus screeched to a halt on the roughened pavement.

"This is us, sweetie, come on," Natasha said with feigned eagerness, grabbing Clint's hand and pulling him to his feet. They maneuvered through the crowded vehicle and stepped out the door onto the cement sidewalk. They were the only two people to get off at that stop.

As the bus rumbled noisily away, the two assassins surveyed their surroundings.

"For some reason, I thought it'd be more remote," was Clint's comment. He scanned the streets and buildings around him. They were in a small suburb of Chicago that was fairly well-populated.

"Oh, well this isn't Washington Street," Natasha informed him quickly.

"It's not?"

"No, the bus doesn't stop on Washington Street," Natasha explained. "Because there's like nothing there." She opened the map app on her phone and leaned towards Clint, pointing at the screen. "Look, we're here on Birch Street. Washington Street is a couple roads down that way." She pointed off in the distance.

"Well, let's go." Clint took her hand in his, and they started walking down the sidewalk together.

 _olxlo_

They had been walking for about ten minutes when they turned onto Washington Street.

This road looked much more deserted. Strong breezes blew litter across the sidewalks, and playfully flapped the loose corners of signs advertising long-forgotten businesses. A couple of small complexes decayed on the opposite side of the road, looking abused and derelict. And at the end of the street was an old, crumbling factory plant.

"Is that it?" Clint nodded towards one of the warehouses.

"That's it." The wind blew a few stray hairs across Natasha's face as she gazed at the building. She brushed them away impatiently. "The front door approach, do you think?"

Clint hesitated. "Let's look for a back door."

"Okay. But you've seen the records," Natasha reminded him. "They never return to a crime scene."

"Right, but going by the little gift they sent us, I'd say visitors aren't welcomed."

Natasha couldn't argue with that statement; so they circled around to the back of the building, looking for a service door.

"Let's try that one," Clint indicated a door marked 'Employees Only.'

"Hmm, no exterior handle. But when's that ever stopped us?" Nat grinned.

Clint kicked against the door, testing its strength. "I wonder-"

He was interrupted by a faint shout from within. "Is someone out there? Help me, please!"

Clint and Natasha exchanged looks of surprise.

"We're here. What's the problem?" Natasha called back cautiously.

There was a short pause. "Romanoff? Is that you?"

"It can't be - _Mayer?"_ Clint said in disbelief.

"Barton! You've got to help me, I'm trapped in here! Those bastards tied me up and I can't get loose!" Mayer's voice called back, sounding weary and strained.

"We're coming in!" Clint replied stridently. He backed up away from the door and took a running charge at it. It cracked loudly when he collided with it, but remained intact.

"You've got to hurry up, they'll be back any time! I found out some of their plans and they're going to kill me!" Mayer said, urgency clear in his voice.

"Just hold on, Mayer, we'll be right there!" Clint called back reassuringly. He tested the weakened door with his palms, then backed up again to throw himself forcefully at the door.

This time, it splintered open, and Clint and Natasha stumbled through. The room was dimly lit, but they could distinguish Mayer, lying on his side on the opposite side of the room. His hands and feet were bound tightly together and he looked worn and panicked.

Clint and Natasha strode intently forward. "Don't worry, Mayer, we'll have you out in a sec," Natasha assured him as she whipped her knife open.

Mayer opened his mouth and spoke three words: "I'm so sorry."

Clint and Natasha froze.

From behind them came the clicks of dozens of guns being cocked.

Clint and Natasha turned slowly and found themselves staring down a horde of soldiers, all pointing their assault rifles menacingly at them. Natasha inwardly berated herself for not having assessed the situation in the room more thoroughly, but she had been so focused on Mayer when they entered that she hadn't even thought to look around.

Dmitri Kedrov stepped forward, a sardonic smile twisting his lips, and his hands spread wide in mock greeting. "Natalia Romanova. After all these years."

Natasha's hands came to rest on both her pistols. She felt Clint shifting beside her and knew he was reaching for his concealed bow.

Kedrov's sharp eyes flicked downwards, noting their subtle movements.

"Put the weapons down," he ordered smoothly.

The two spies didn't budge.

Kedrov's eyes narrowed, and he took a step towards them.

"Terrier," Natasha muttered to Clint.

'Terrier' was the code word for one of their battle techniques. Whoever said it would create a diversion, and in the confusion, the other would take out as many of their enemies as possible.

It was one of their more dangerous tactics, and frequently ended in the distractor being shot. But with dozens of assault rifles aimed at them, each man ready to take the next one's place if he was shot, Natasha didn't see many options.

As her diversion, she hurled herself at Kedrov, knocking him to the ground.

In the seconds that followed, Natasha winced as the amplified crackle of multiple guns shooting at once split the air. She knew Clint was adept at dodging bullets, but there was no way he could have escaped without a hit or two.

Then she heard the twang of his bowstring, and thus reassured, she turned herself to her immediate threat – Kedrov.

She didn't want to spar with him, knowing that he was one of the few expert fighters who could keep her going for quite a while. And she needed to be taking down gunmen before they turned Clint into a colander. So she shoved Kedrov away from her; and to her surprise, he didn't counterattack. She didn't have time to wonder why; she was too busy putting bullets into the riflers.

After a few deft maneuvers, she found herself comfortably back-to-back with Clint. It was their best stance to fight in, being offensive and defensive simultaneously; and they worked in perfect harmony, Clint's lunges timing with Natasha's steps.

Just as Natasha was getting into her stride, and it was starting to look like they might have a fighting chance, both she and Clint were alerted by Mayer crying out.

Kedrov was holding him tightly, pressing a gun to his temple. "Drop your weapons or he dies," he growled.

Clint and Natasha hesitated.

Mayer looked so beat-up and exhausted that he could hardly stay on his feet. He looked at Clint and Natasha and mouthed the word _No._

Natasha could practically hear Clint's mind whirring, and hers was working just as fast. Trying to find a way out of the predicament, but inevitably arriving at the same conclusion.

Natasha dropped both her guns, and raised her hands in surrender.

Clint cursed softly, but dropped his bow.

Kedrov's eyes gleamed triumphantly. "Good choice," he said. "Barsilov?"

A short man stepped forward, holding two syringes and grinning wickedly.

"Your arm, if you please, Mr. Barton," he said mockingly.

Clint lowered his arm resignedly, and the man stabbed a syringe into his vein. Adrenaline strangled Natasha as his eyes closed and he slumped to the ground.

The man stepped towards Natasha. "Your arm, please," he said, smiling sardonically.

Natasha's mind was on overdrive. Was Clint just unconscious? Or dead? She might have time to revive him if she could get him out of this mess. Her eyes flicked to Kedrov. He cocked the pistol.

"Your arm please, дорогой," Barsilov repeated.

Glaring at Kedrov, Natasha lowered her arm. A needle pricked the underside of her elbow, and her vision slowly faded to black.

* * *

 **Yay, finally getting to the dramatic parts!**

 **Much like nitrous oxide, reviews make me smile. (:**


	9. Chapter 9

**Just so it's clear, the sentences in italics were spoken in Russian.**

* * *

Natasha slowly came to consciousness and found herself lying on a hard surface. She blinked, trying to clear her head, until the room around her came into focus.

She was lying on the floor of a prison cell. She sat up slowly, trying to collect her thoughts.

The next thing she noticed was that her face was burning slightly. She touched it gingerly, and found that her disguise makeup had been scrubbed off.

Through the metal bars on the door, a guard was leering unkindly at her. He raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth and spoke in Russian.

 _"Sir? She's awake."_

 _"Bring her in,"_ a vaguely familiar voice crackled in response.

"Where's Clint," Natasha said dully.

He smiled.

Natasha felt a twinge of irritation. "Where's Clint?" she repeated more forcefully.

He continued to smile tauntingly at her.

Natasha scrambled furiously to her feet and launched herself towards the door. The guard's eyes bulged out and he flattened himself against the wall.

"Where is he? Where's Barton?" Natasha yelled. "Tell me what you've done with him, you idiot!"

The man lifted his walkie-talkie again. _"I need ten men in Containment Unit B to help transport,"_ he said tautly.

Ten men to help transport? Natasha snorted derisively, causing her guard to jump. On the one hand, she was flattered to be considered so dangerous, but on the other hand, they were idiots to think she would try escaping without knowing where Clint was.

Natasha retreated to the back of her cell and sat down, as footsteps sounded in the hallway. Ten armed guards came into view. They gaped through the bars at her, and she stared back placidly.

Natasha waited for them to open the door, but none of them seemed eager to volunteer. The hilarity of the situation struck her as eleven armed guards looked fearfully into her cell to where she sat, quiet and unarmed. Despite her predicament, she couldn't help a small grin.

One of the guards gulped. _"Um, she's smiling. What does that mean?"_

Natasha's grin grew broader.

The men's discomfort increased. _"Should we radio the chief?"_ suggested one.

 _"Don't be stupid!"_ the biggest guy snapped. He pulled a keyring and a pair of handcuffs off his belt. "I'll _get her."_

He eyed Natasha warily. Then he took a deep breath and unlocked the door. It swung slowly open.

Cautiously, he stepped into the cell. He took a few steps toward her, then paused and stared fearfully at her.

Natasha stood and held her wrists out towards him. He retreated rapidly at her sudden movement, then approached her and snapped the cuffs onto her.

 _"See?"_ he said triumphantly.

Oddly, none of his comrades seemed any more willing to get closer to her than they had been before the cuffs. Natasha grinned in amusement at their scared faces, but her face darkened again as her thoughts returned to Clint. He could be dead for all she knew.

"Oh, just take me to the chief!" she snarled. They hastened to obey.

 _olxlo_

Natasha was escorted through several hallways and up many flights of stairs. They stopped in front of a heavy door. Her original guard took her roughly by the arm and dragged her into the room.

It was a small, sterile room, with white walls and floor, completely empty except for a table and two chairs. A snowy-haired man sat in a chair with his back to the door.

 _"Here is the prisoner, sir, as you requested,"_ the guard said.

 _"Thank you, Pavlev. Leave us,"_ the familiar voice commanded.

The guard exited.

"Sit down, милая _,"_ the man instructed in English.

Warily, Natasha crossed the room and lowered herself into the chair. Her heart gave a sickening jolt as she recognized the man.

His eyes brightened greedily when he saw her face. "Ahh, Natalia," he purred. _"_ Красивая маленькая Natalia _."_

Natasha stared stonily back.

"It has been many years since we crossed paths," the man declared. "Perhaps you do not remember me."

"Yevgeny Polzin," Natasha spat.

"It would seem I had more of an impact than I thought."

He apparently noticed her cuffed hands. _"_ боже мой _._ Did they restrain you, милая _?_ " he asked. "My sincerest apologies. I fear my men have not been welcoming." He slid a key across the table towards her.

Natasha took it awkwardly and unlocked the cuffs with difficulty. She touched her cold wrists in puzzlement.

"Why have you not killed me yet?" she demanded. "You're going to do it slowly – torture me?"

"So macabre, Natalia. But you have misunderstood me completely. I am not going to hurt you." He smiled eccentrically. "I am simply reclaiming you."

In response to her look of confusion, he continued. "You were mine, милая _._ My weapon. And you have become one of the world's greatest spies. But traitor! You spy for America and not Russia!

"Other defectors, we disposed of, naturally. But not you, милая _._ You are my special weapon. Shield was using you, but now I have reclaimed you."

Natasha's mind spun as she tried to reconcile this information with the soviets' actions the past few months.

"It was a trick," she said finally. "Right from the beginning. All those mysterious killings – you were just trying to get on Shield's radar, weren't you? And you killed the other agents they sent down here because you were waiting for them to send me and Clint."

Polzin merely smiled.

"And that dud you planted at our hotel," Natasha went on. "That wasn't a warning. It was a trap. You knew that if you warned us not to go to Washington Street, we would."

"How perceptive, милая _,"_ Polzin said smugly. "You are correct. With one exception."

Natasha waited.

"This was all for you, Natalia. We never meant for Hawkeye to come at all. He got in the way."

Natasha gripped the edge of the table. "What have you done with him?"

"Oh, don't fret, милая _._ He is locked in the Containment Unit, safe and sound."

Natasha relaxed slightly. "Then what are you _going_ to do with him?"

"That is a question I have been asking myself. At first, I meant to kill him. But then it occurred to me how much knowledge he must have about Shield." Polzin looked meaningfully at her. "Knowledge that could be extracted from him."

Natasha clenched her jaw.

"However, an even better idea occurred to me," Polzin went on. "You see, милая _,_ the one loophole in my otherwise perfect plan, was that Shield would be sure to come rescue you. If we could get back to Russia before they came for you, we would be more secure, but I wasn't sure we could. That is where Mr. Barton comes in.

"You see, I asked myself, what would convince Shield not to come rescue you? And I answered, if they believed you joined us of your own free will. How could I convince them of that? Well, Mr. Barton seems to be well-respected at Shield. And he seems to know you very well. So, if he believed you returned voluntarily, Shield would believe him when he told them so."

Natasha laughed humorlessly. "That's ludicrous. You could never convince Clint that I'm on your side."

"You are correct, I cannot," Polzin agreed. "But I know someone who can."

Natasha stared at him in disbelief. "Me? You want me to convince him?"

Polzin exhaled. "We cannot take him with us to Russia, and our flight leaves next Friday. If he cannot be convinced before then, we won't let him return to Shield. He would report your capture and Shield would be onto us too quickly. No, the only way he can return is if he believes you are on our side. Otherwise, we'll be forced to dispose of him."

"It doesn't matter who tries to convince him," Natasha said. "He'll never believe it, let alone before next Friday."

"Well, if you're sure," Polzin purred, "then he is of no use to us. I'll find some other way to keep Shield at bay. Mr. Barton will be interrogated, then killed before we return to Russia."

Natasha glowered at him. She wracked her brains trying to think of another option, but there wasn't one. Polzin smiled cattishly as he watched her realize the inevitable.

Natasha sighed in defeat. "Fine, Polzin," she said wearily. "What do you want me to do?"

Polzin's eyes gleamed. "Ah, милая _,"_ he sighed. "That is the question I have been waiting for."

* * *

 **I had waaay too much fun writing the idiotic guards. x) Also, ilikehats2 is a genius because she keeps guessing all the plot developments. :D**


	10. Chapter 10

**It was brought to my attention that I didn't translate the Russian in the last couple chapters for you guys... oops.**

 **дорогой: dear/darling (Ch. 8)**

 **Красивая маленькая Natalia: Pretty little Natalia (Ch. 9)**

 **боже мой: Oh my god (Ch. 9)**

 **милая: sweetie (Ch. 9)**

 **Yay, first chapter from Clint's POV!**

* * *

Clint came to consciousness and found himself lying on the cold floor of a prison cell. He sat up slowly, grimacing as pain shot through his legs.

He'd been shot twice in the warehouse; once in the arm, once in the leg. Considering the odds, he'd actually been very lucky.

A guard stood just outside the door of his cell, watching him. "Hawkeye is awake, sir," he said in Russian into a walkie-talkie.

Clint looked earnestly up at his guard. "Nat. Is she here?"

"We are forbidden to speak to prisoners," the man said smugly, switching to English.

Clint awkwardly dragged himself to his feet, wincing as he put weight on his right leg. He shuffled to the barred door and looked to the left and right, trying to see down the long hallway.

For no apparent reason, the guard kicked him in the shin.

Pain exploded in Clint's leg, and he cried out as his leg collapsed under him and he fell to the ground. The guard laughed unkindly and kicked Clint's ribs between the bars.

Grunting, Clint rolled out of his reach. If they were treating him this badly, he hated to think what they were doing to Natasha, who they had a grudge against.

 _olxlo_

A few hours later, a command in Russian came over the guard's walkie-talkie.

"Bring him in."

The guard entered Clint's cell and dragged him to his feet, snapping cuffs onto his wrists. "Let's go, Hawkeye."

As he was led down the hallway, Clint kept a lookout for Natasha. He glanced into every cell they passed, but didn't see her. After they passed through several more hallways and up a few flights of stairs, the guard removed Clint's handcuffs and shoved him through a door.

They were in a sterile room with white walls and floor. A camera was mounted on the wall, pointing at a table and two chairs that sat in the middle of the room. "Wait here," the guard said before exiting.

Clint limped forward and sat down. He watched the door, knowing that soon, the mastermind behind this whole scheme would come in to interrogate him. Well, he didn't intend to answer any questions until the crook told him where Natasha was.

Footsteps approached the door, and Clint tensed. In just a second, the person would be in the room.

The door opened, and in stepped the person Clint least expected to see.

His jaw went slack.

 _"Natasha?"_ he said incredulously.

Disregarding his leg's protests, he jumped to his feet and started towards her, arms outstretched. To his surprise, she recoiled, face emotionless as she distanced herself from him.

Clint froze.

What was wrong with her? Was she angry with him? Afraid of him? Disgusted by him? He didn't know, but it didn't matter at present. He had to tell her what he'd been agonizing over since he woke up.

"Tasha," he said, "I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I should have realized the warehouse thing was a hoax. You trusted me to have your back, and I didn't. I'm sorry."

He waited for a response, but she merely looked at him.

At last, she spoke. "Sit down, Mr. Barton."

Confusion infested Clint's brain. "What?"

She sat down, staring purposefully at the wall. _"Sit down, Mr. Barton,"_ she repeated severely.

Clint sat down, his head buzzing with so many questions that he didn't know which to ask first.

Unexpectedly, Natasha started smiling "So," she said. "It worked. You really trusted me."

"What are you saying, Nat?"

"Remember when we first met? How you were sent to kill me, but you spared my life?" She paused. "Well, that was set up. We knew you were coming for me, so we made sure you saw something in me that wasn't really there.

"It worked. You took me right to the heart of Shield where I had access to classified information, and I reported it to KGB.

"Only problem was, Shield used me. They made me fight for their causes, and kill their enemies, sometimes my own countrymen. Well, I'm done being their puppet now.

"I couldn't just leave Shield, cause I knew they'd come after me. So we set up Soviets in Chicago. I waited while Fury sent others down, but I knew eventually he'd send me. Why do you think I was so stubborn about taking this case?"

Clint listened with increasing incredulity. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because of Shield," Natasha said. "If I just vanished during this mission, they'd think I'd been captured and come to rescue me, probably killing countless soviets in the process. That's why you're here – so you can go back to Shield and tell them I don't need to be rescued, and keep them off our tails."

Clint examined her face narrowly. He knew she was lying, but he didn't know why. She gazed coolly back at him; and gradually, a solution formed in his mind.

"They're threatening you, aren't they?"

He saw something flash behind her eyes, but she said nothing.

"They're making you lie to me." He stood up and faced the camera. "Look, I don't know what your game is, but it's _not_ gonna work," he said loudly. "I _don't believe_ her. And I _never will_. So you might as well give up."

 _"Sit. Down."_ Natasha careened around the table and shoved Clint into his seat. He didn't resist her touch, knowing that she wasn't going to hurt him.

Natasha returned to her seat. "So that's your theory, is it?" she growled. "Well, let me ask you something. If that were the case, why are you the only one who's hurt? I mean, look at you. You've been shot twice, your arm looks like it's broken, and you're bruised from the guards knocking you around. And look at me. I wasn't even scratched in the warehouse fight, and they haven't been abusing me at all. That's because I'm with them.

"I mean, we need you _alive_ if you're gonna tell Shield not to come after me, but we don't necessarily need you in one piece."

Clint realized it was true, at least that part was. He tried to reconcile this fact with his certainty that she was under constraint to lie to him, but he couldn't. At last he sighed.

"I don't care. I know you, Natasha, and this is not who you are. We might as well end this conversation, cause you're never gonna convince me that you're with KGB."

"Fine." Natasha stood up. "Go back to your cell and think about what I've told you. But this isn't our last conversation. Eventually, you'll see that I'm telling the truth."

"We'll see," he replied as she walked out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

**I felt compelled to write the previous scene from Nat's point of view... so if you were looking for storyline advancement, sorry. x)**

 **On a different note, there are going to be twenty chapters total, so we're just past halfway now! *cheers***

* * *

Natasha stared at the screen, watching as Clint walked into the white room and sat down. The video quality wasn't great, but she could tell he was injured; how badly, she didn't know.

"Are you ready, милая _?"_ Polzin asked slickly.

"Yeah, let's get this over with."

"Remember, Natalia, if he will not be convinced, he will have to die. And we are watching you closely. If you try to send him a message with your eyes, this experiment will be terminated. As will his life." He chuckled in dark humor. Then he motioned to Pavlev. "Pavlev, esort her."

Pavlev took Natasha's arm to lead her out of the room, but she jerked her arm out of his grasp and walked freely beside him. He didn't object.

They walked down several hallways before they came to the right one. Pavlev pointed to a door at the end of the hallway.

"That's the one, ma'am. It's my duty to remind you that, should you attempt…" the words died on his lips when she sent him a death glare.

She walked down the hallway, her pulse quickening as she neared the door. In a few seconds, she would finally see him again.

She opened the door and stepped into the room.

She almost gasped at the sight of him.

He was pale and ragged. His left arm was wrapped in a bloodied rag, and based on its awkward position, it was probably broken. His hair was tousled and his face was dirty. A dark bruise bloomed across his jaw, and his lips were slightly parted as he stared at her in shock.

She saw his lips form her name, and then he was on his feet, limping heavily towards her, reaching desperately for her.

She was filled with a desire to run to him and feel his strong arms surrounding her. But Polzin's words echoed in her mind, and she realized that to give in to the temptation would be to sign his death warrant.

With this thought in mind, she jumped away from him.

Clint hesitated, and she could see the hurt and confusion in his eyes as he slowly lowered his hands. Then resolve claimed his features.

"Tasha," he said earnestly. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I should have realized the warehouse thing was a hoax. You trusted me to have your back, and I didn't. I'm sorry."

His words tore at her, especially since she knew she was as much at fault for the oversight as he was. He was just blaming himself because he'd been expecting something of the sort to happen all along, and had done his best to prevent it, but it had happened anyway.

Then she remembered the camera. She wasn't encouraging Clint, but she wasn't discouraging him either. If she wanted to keep him alive, she was going to have to be less neutral.

"Sit down, Mr. Barton," she said coldly.

He stared blankly at her. "What?"

She sat down, carefully avoiding his gaze. _"Sit down, Mr. Barton."_

He sat down.

Her head spun as he watched her closely, waiting for her to make the first move. If she was going to save him from a torturous death, she would need to be as convincing as possible. So she tried to think: If she was really with KGB, what would she be saying right now?

At last, she smiled. "So. It worked. You really trusted me."

"What are you saying, Nat?" Clint furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of it all.

Natasha started talking, telling him the ridiculous story Polzin had invented. She could tell he wasn't buying it, just as she'd known he wouldn't, and his eyes narrowed dubiously as she spoke.

"Why are you telling me this?" Clint asked in disgust when she finished.

Natasha gave the answer Polzin had fabricated.

She studied Clint's face closely when she concluded. She could tell he still didn't believe her, and he was thinking hard to come up with an explanation for her actions. Gradually, a light appeared in his eyes, and she waited for him to speak.

"They're threatening you, aren't they?"

Her heart pounded as her emotions warred with themselves. Part of her was relieved that he had figured it out. She didn't want him to believe these lies about her. And she was tempted to confirm his guess without speaking, the way they sometimes did.

But mainly, she was terrified, and knew she couldn't signal him. Polzin was watching her closely; she could feel his eyes boring into her through the camera, and he had promised her that if she tried anything like that, Clint was as good as dead.

"They're making you lie to me," Clint said with more certainty. Then, to her horror, he stood up and glared at the camera. "Look, I don't know what your game is, but it's _not_ gonna work," he said loudly. "I _don't believe_ her. And I _never will_. So you might as well give up."

 _"Sit. Down."_ Natasha careened around the table, adrenaline rushing through her, and shoved Clint down into his seat. He willingly submitted. They both knew that she wouldn't hurt him.

Natasha returned to her seat, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way to convince him that she was acting voluntarily. "So that's your theory, is it?" she growled finally. "Well, let me ask you something. If that were the case, why are you the only one who's hurt? I mean, look at you. You've been shot twice, your arm looks like it's broken, and you're bruised from the guards knocking you around. And look at me. I wasn't even scratched in the warehouse fight, and they haven't been abusing me at all. That's because I'm with them.

"I mean, we need you _alive_ if you're gonna tell Shield not to come after me, but we don't necessarily need you in one piece."

This was actually mostly true. Polzin wanted her for her physical talents, so he'd ordered his men not to lay a finger on her. But they only needed Clint for the reason she had stated, so they could do what they wanted with him, as long as they kept him alive.

Natasha saw confusion seizing Clint's brain as he caught the ring of truth in her words. He frowned, trying to isolate the truth from the lies, but having no success. At last he sighed.

"I don't care," he said. "I know you, Natasha, and this is not who you are. We might as well end this conversation, cause you're never gonna convince me that you're with KGB."

"Fine." Natasha stood up. "Go back to your cell and think about what I've told you. But this isn't our last conversation. Eventually, you'll see that I'm telling the truth."

"We'll see," he replied as she walked out the door.


	12. Chapter 12

So it went on throughout the week. Every day, Clint was dragged out of his cell, and Natasha was forced into the white room to repeat the same lies over and over. And every day, he told her that he didn't believe her.

Natasha noticed that Clint looked thinner and paler each time she saw him, and he accumulated more bruises between each session. The guards were mistreating him, and with each new injury he got, Natasha's desire to strangle his tormentors intensified.

Neither of them saw Mayer at all that week. The only way Natasha knew he was alive was because Polzin had told her that, if and when Clint believed her, Mayer would be allowed to return to S.H.I.E.L.D. with Clint.

During their first few sessions, Natasha was more calm, but as time went on and Clint still showed no signs of relenting, she began to grow more panicked. So their thirty to forty-five minute sessions became more of 'Natasha shouting herself hoarse while Clint told her to simmer down' time.

 _olxlo_

"Simmer down, Nat," Clint said calmly. "Getting all worked up isn't going to help anything."

It was Thursday, and Polzin had told Natasha that they were leaving early the next morning, so this was her last chance to get Clint to believe her. Because of this knowledge, Natasha was almost insane with fear for Clint's life, and had probably yelled at him more today than all the other days put together.

"I told you to stop calling me that," Natasha said between clenched teeth. "And I will simmer down once you believe me!"

"Guess you'll never simmer down, then," Clint said. "And you like it when I call you 'Nat'."

"No, I don't," Natasha lied. "Don't you get it? That's how you know I'm telling the truth, because none of that was ever real, it was just part of the lie!"

"No, Natasha," Clint said. "This is the lie."

Natasha jumped to her feet and leaned aggressively across the table towards Clint. He looked calmly up at her.

"Gosh, Clint, why won't you just freaking believe me?" she cried. "Has it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, I'm telling the truth? This is your last chance at survival, so if you don't want to die, then maybe you should open your mind and just think for a minute. We leave for Russia tomorrow morning, and if you still insist on ignoring the obvious by then, we are going to kill you!"

"Yes, I know, you told me," Clint said quietly, rubbing his temples. "But if I let them take you back to Russia, they're going to kill you."

"No, they're not! I told you, I'm on their side!" Natasha hoped that her genuine desperation would creep into her tone so he would see how important it was that he believe her. She knew he was an expert at seeing through her lies, so she hoped he would realize that she was telling the truth when she said that they weren't going to kill her. She was secretly hoping that Clint would just give in and go home, and she could go back to Russia and work out a means of escape, and make it up to Clint later. But that was looking more and more unlikely.

"No, you're not on their side," Clint said for the hundredth time. "That is a lie they're forcing you to tell me."

"No, it's not! Shield could be coming after us as we speak, so you'd better face the facts now before we give up on this strategy and think of another way to hold them off."

"Look, if this was the truth, you would have killed me long before now."

"Why won't you just _listen_ to me," Natasha said desperately.

"I am listening to you, I just-"

"THEN WHY. WON'T. YOU. BELIEVE ME!"

The emotion that showed itself as she slapped his bruised face was real, but it wasn't anger. It was fear. Fear that at any moment, Polzin would page her, saying that it was no use, Clint wasn't going to fall for it. They might as well kill him.

Clint grunted in pain and lowered his head, hiding his face as he gingerly touched the wound. Natasha fell silent, watching him closely.

"Okay," Clint murmured finally, not looking up.

She blinked. "What?"

"Okay," Clint repeated. "I believe you. The Natasha I know would never act like this."

Natasha didn't speak. She was caught between intense relief that he'd finally given in, and disappointment in him that he could ever believe this about her. She was her partner, he wasn't supposed to give up on her. She resisted the urge to slap him in the face again.

"Good," she said conclusively. "Now go back to Shield and tell them _not_ to come after me. I'm right where I wanna be."

He nodded mutely.

As Natasha started to walk numbly out of the room, Clint called after her, "I loved her."

Natasha turned to look at him. She wished she could see his face so she could tell what he was thinking, but he gazed purposefully downward.

"Who?" she asked.

"Natasha."

A chill passed through her.

"I mean, I loved Natasha, the Natasha you used to be. And I guess I never told her that. So I just thought you should know." He slumped over in his chair, bruised and beaten.

Natasha closed her eyes.

"It doesn't matter," she managed to say. "None of that was real, because that wasn't who I am. _This_ is who I am."

She turned and hastened from the room, her emotions threatening to choke her.

 _olxlo_

Tears blurred Natasha's vision as she stalked down the hallway. She stopped outside the room where Polzin was and took a minute to compose herself, blinking quickly and taking a few deep breaths. Then she entered the room.

Polzin was sitting in front of the screen, smiling greedily at the image of Clint, who was facedown on the table with his head in his arms.

"Very good, милая _,"_ he said softly. "Very good."

"Now let him go. Or else Shield will hunt you down," Natasha growled.

"Very true," Polzin admitted. "Pavlev?"

Pavlev nodded and hastened out the door.

"Yes, милая _,"_ Polzin said, turning to face her. "We will release him. And you will come back to Russia with us."

"Yeah, okay. Can I go now?" Natasha asked testily. Watching Clint on the monitor was making her feel empty inside.

"Of course, милая _."_

Natasha started towards the door, but Polzin's voice stopped her.

"Oh, Natalia."

She turned.

"If you had plans to escape when we reach Russia."

She folded her arms, waiting.

"Do you, by any chance, remember Grigor Pchelintsov?"

Suddenly, she felt cold and numb. She glared at Polzin with undisguised hatred.

"Ah. I see you do. The scientist who was responsible for altering your memories as a girl."

Natasha looked quickly at the screen. She watched silently as Pavlev dragged Clint out of sight.

"Yes, милая _._ When he's finished with you, you'll never know Clint Barton existed."

* * *

 **Eh... this chapter felt kinda iffy. I'm excited to post the next one though.**

 **On a different note... my sister just wrote her first fic (First Mission). It's posted to my account because she doesn't have one. If anyone would be willing to drop her a line over there, it would totally make her week. :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**I'm overwhelmed by the support on the last chapter! Means a lot, especially since I was a little unsure about that one.**

 **All the excited/screaming comments are what inspire me to keep at it! :) All I can say is, if you're heartbroken now, just give it two or three chapters and it gets even worse. x)**

 **amydfuller9 - I laughed for approximately six months at the baker comment. Just imagine: Polzin... in a chef's hat... X'D**

* * *

Fury was sitting in his office, reviewing mission reports, when he heard slow, irregular footsteps coming towards his door. A moment later, Clint appeared in the doorway.

"Director Fury? Could I intrude on you for a minute?"

Fury stood up, surprised.

"Agent Barton," he said as Clint limped into the room. "Good to have you back."

"Good to be back, sir," Clint said, shaking his hand.

"I think the last time we heard from you was last Saturday morning, when you gave a progress report. After that, we lost contact. What happened?"

"We were compromised," Clint said simply. He paused. "Director, would you page Agent Hill? Something… happened on the mission. And I know you're going to read the report, but I'd rather you heard this straight from me."

Fury paused, his finger over the intercom button.

"Barton… where's Agent Romanoff?"

Clint sat down and exhaled, running his fingers through his hair.

"That's what I want to talk to you about."

Fury paged Hill.

Moments later, she briskly entered the office. "Barton! I didn't realize you were back from Chicago."

"I just got back," Clint explained as Hill sat down. "I probably should've called in to let you know I was coming, but I was more focused on getting Mayer to a hospital."

"Mayer? You found Mayer?" Hill inquired.

"We did," Clint replied. "He sustained major injuries after his time in captivity, but they're confident he's gonna pull through."

"What about you?" Hill asked. His injured arm and leg had not escaped her notice.

Clint gestured to his leg. "The bullet passed through cleanly, without hitting the bone. This, on the other hand…" he gestured to his arm, which was in a sling. "Double fracture. It's gonna heal, but it'll take time."

"Mm." Hill nodded. "How 'bout Romanoff? Is she here?"

"No," Clint said. "She's not."

Hill frowned. "Then where is she?"

Clint sighed and rubbed his hand tiredly across his face.

"She's gone."

"Gone?" Hill repeated. "You mean she's MIA?" she added anxiously.

"No, she's not missing, she's back in Russia; I… I let her go."

Fury's chair scraped the floor noisily as he leapt to his feet. "You let her go back to Russia?" he repeated in bewilderment.

"Let her, yes, in a manner of speaking."

 _"Why?"_ Fury demanded.

Clint looked at his lap. "Because I was an idiot."

"Okay. Okay." Fury sat back down. "Hill and I are gonna sit here, and you're going to explain to us what the hell is going on."

Clint paused, collecting his thoughts. Then he said, "Well… we took that warehouse tip. It paid off. We found Mayer there, but we also walked right into a trap.

"It was really my fault," Clint said, scowling. "I wasn't paying attention to our surroundings. It was an amateurish mistake, and we paid for it."

He was silent for a moment, inwardly chastising himself for the relapse. Fury and Hill waited until he continued.

"So we were transported to their temporary plant. They stuck me in a cell, and the next thing I knew, Natasha was telling me she's been a double agent since she joined Shield, collecting intel to report to KGB."

 _"What?"_ Fury barked, and Hill looked dumbfounded.

"At first, I thought it was all a lie she was being forced to tell," Clint went on. "But I can always tell when Natasha's lying. And I started hearing truth in her words: She said the Russians weren't going to kill her, but they would kill me if I refused to believe her story.

"I knew that was true, so I did what seemed best at the time," Clint explained. "I pretended to believe the _whole_ story. They thought she'd convinced me, so they let me go.

"But now I'm starting to wonder if that was such a good idea. Now they have her completely at their disposal in Russia, and God knows what they plan to do with her. So we have to get her back," Clint finished persuasively.

"Agreed," Fury said, nodding. "We need to get her back ASAP. But there's just one little problem."

"What?" Clint asked.

"Do you have any idea how many locations KGB has?" Fury said. "We don't even know where all of them are. It would take ages to figure out which one she's at."

"We don't have ages," Clint said, agitatedly rumpling his hair. "We know where some of them are, right?"

"Right."

"Great, so let's start there," Clint said. "Have our intelligence agency check up on all known bases." Before he could continue, his cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and looked at it.

"Sorry, Director, I need to take this," he said before answering.

"Hello?... Yes." Clint's face grew serious as the person on the other line spoke. "I'll be right down," he said finally; then hung up.

He looked up. "Excuse me Fury, Hill. I have to go," he said. "That was the hospital. Mayer's awake, and he's asking for me."

 _olxlo_

"Barton," Mayer said weakly as Clint walked into the hospital room.

"Hi, Mayer. How you feeling?"

"Okay," Mayer said. "Got a couple broken ribs and some intestinal damage, but I'll live."

"Course you will. You always do," Clint said with a grin.

Mayer grinned back, then grew serious. "Look, Clint. I never got around to telling you how sorry I am about the whole warehouse thing."

"Hey, don't worry about it. That wasn't your fault," Clint said firmly. "You were in a tight spot. Anyone would have done the same thing in your situation."

"Maybe. But I could have at least given you some kind of warning."

"If you had, they would have killed you," Clint pointed out. "I blame myself. I've had years of experience with hostage situations. I should have realized something was up."

"Nah, it wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have gotten myself captured in the first place," Mayer said. Before Clint could respond, he asked, "So has anyone gone after Romanoff yet?"

Clint shook his head. "We have to figure out where she is first," he replied. "The KGB has countless locations, so it'll take time. Hopefully not too much though."

Mayer nodded slowly. "Well, is there anything I can do to help?"

"For now, get some rest," Clint said, standing up. "I should go. The doctor'll have my head if I stay too much longer."

Mayer chuckled as Clint headed for the door. "Hang in there, Barton."

"You, too," Clint said as he opened the door.

He was called back by Mayer's urgent voice.

"What is it?" Clint asked in concern. Mayer's face had changed; he looked eager and alert.

"I just remembered something," Mayer said. "And I think it can help us find Agent Romanoff."

Pulse quickening, Clint hastened back to the bed and sat down. "Tell me."

"Well," Mayer began. "When I was in prison in Chicago, the guards would sometimes talk to each other in Russian. I can speak a little Russian, but I didn't let on because I hoped I would learn something important by listening to them.

"I just remembered something I heard them say once. I was barely conscious at the time, but it might be important."

"What did they say?" Clint asked urgently.

"Well, one of them said, 'How much longer are we staying in Chicago?' and the other said, 'Now that we have the Black Widow, one week. On Friday, we're going back to Korocha."

"Korocha?" Clint repeated. "Never heard of it. But this is great, this is just what we needed," he said enthusiastically. "Thanks, Mayer! I'm gonna report this to Fury!" And with that, Clint ran from the room.

* * *

 **You were all right! Of COURSE Clint didn't believe her! :) As ever, let me know what you think/where you think the story is headed. More updates coming soon!**


	14. Chapter 14

The door of Fury's office opened, and Clint all but ran into the room. Fury and Hill looked up from where they were sitting behind the desk.

"What did you find?" Clint demanded, sliding into a seat. "Did you find the base in Korocha? Do you know where she is, can we go get her?"

"Whoa, Barton, slow down," Fury said, as Clint panted for breath. "You know it's ten o' clock PM? I told you this meeting was a priority, not an emergency."

"Well, it's been three days," Clint breathed. "Time is of the essence at this point."

"Well, then," Fury said. "Yes, we've found something in Korocha, Belgorod that looks suspicious. Now we can't be sure, but there's a good chance this is it."

"We can't pinpoint the exact location, of course," Hill went on, as Clint's breathing finally returned to normal. "But we've gotten pretty close, within a three-mile radius. It should be enough to go on."

"Okay," Clint said. "When do I leave?"

Fury and Hill exchanged glances. "Agent Barton," Fury began. "Agent Hill and I feel that, in light of your injuries-"

"If you're about to say I can't go to Korocha, forget it," Clint said. "I'm gonna go."

"Clint," Hill said sternly. "Last week, you were shot in the leg. Both bones in your forearm are broken, and you were held in captivity for a week, during which time you were starved and abused. Don't you think it's a bit premature for you to conduct a rescue mission?"

"Well, I'm not limping anymore. And my leg barely hurts at all," Clint returned. "Besides, now that my arm is in a brace instead of a sling, I can use my bow again. I was practicing earlier today, and I can shoot with ninety-six percent accuracy. And, to be fair," he added, "that was a week _and a half_ ago."

Fury glanced at Hill, who shrugged. Fury huffed in defeat.

"Alright, Agent Barton. Fine. You can go to Korocha," he said. "On one condition. This cannot be a solo mission."

Clint's face fell. He'd only ever had one-on-one missions with Natasha, and if she couldn't be with him, he wanted to be alone.

Fury seemed to sense his feelings. "I know it's hard, Barton," he said. "But you need someone to make up for that remaining four percent."

Clint nodded in resignation. "Who are you sending?"

"Well, you seem to work pretty well with Captain Rogers," Fury said.

Clint frowned. "But isn't he working on the Africa project with Stark and Banner?"

"Yes," Fury said cautiously. "But they'll be back from Ethiopia by tomorrow evening."

"Tomorrow evening?" Clint repeated incredulously. "Well, obviously, I can't wait for him, then. We'll have to go with someone else."

"How about Agent Carter?" Hill suggested. "She hasn't done field work for a while, but she's the one who located the base in Korocha. She knows a lot about the area."

"Perfect," Clint agreed, rising. "Tell her we leave in one hour." With that, he walked quickly out of the room.

 _olxlo_

The black S.H.I.E.L.D. helicopter hovered over the small town of Korocha, maintaining a substantial altitude to decrease the risk of being sighted. After leaving New York at eleven PM, they had taken the ten-hour flight to Korocha, so it should have been nine AM; but here in Russia, it was four PM.

Clint and Sharon looked out the helicopter's tinted windows and into the busy city below, taking advantage of the temporary bird's eye view to examine it.

"Looks pretty well-populated," Clint observed, glaring at the distant ground. "That's odd."

"Why is it odd?" Sharon queried, turning to look at the archer.

"Well, normally, resource bases tend to be in areas of lower population," Clint explained. "That lessens the chance of them being found by civilians."

"Makes sense," Sharon said, turning thoughtfully back to the window.

Clint said nothing. Even though he knew it wasn't fair, since Sharon's job centered more around intelligence management than attacking hostile resource plants, he couldn't help thinking that Natasha would have known why it was odd. Already, Clint had found himself comparing Sharon to Natasha multiple times, and he knew it was because he'd gone so many years with Natasha as his sole partner.

Clint pointed to a lengthy steppe that bordered the city. "Think I'm gonna put her down right there," he said. "You wanna do a pirep before we get off?"

Sharon hesitated, and Clint realized that she probably didn't have much experience with putting in pilot reports.

"Never mind, I can do it," Clint said, leaning forward to access the radio controls.

"Sierra Hotel India Echo Lima Delta, this is November three Victor niner zero niner checking in, how do you read?"

"Sierra reads loud and clear," came the response from the S.H.I.E.L.D. aviation department.

Sharon watched with interest.

"Niner zero niner checks five one north, three seven west at one six zero six. Leaving one thousand for zero. Do you copy, Sierra?"

"Copy that, niner zero niner."

"Niner zero niner, over and out."

"Sorry, Agent," Sharon said quietly when he finished. "I want to help, but I'm a little out of my league here."

"Don't worry about it," Clint said as he prepared to land.

 _olxlo_

As they walked through the busy streets of Korocha, Clint murmured to Sharon, "We split here. We have to do a six-mile ground check, so it goes quicker if we separate. Comms stay on at all times, and report anything out of the ordinary."

"Like what, for example?" Sharon asked quickly.

"Like top-secret KGB resource bases," Clint answered before veering off to the left.

But as he walked quickly through the dingy streets, eyes and ears on high alert, Clint was forced to admit to himself that he had no idea what he was looking for, either. Resource bases were so easy to locate when they were out in the middle of nowhere, the only structure for miles. It was so unusual for one to be hidden right in the middle of a crowded suburb.

After nearly half an hour of traveling the town, examining every building, alley, and market for signs of the KGB, Clint contacted Sharon. "First mile accounted for, Agent Thirteen. Nothing to report."

"Likewise on this end," she replied. After a moment, she spoke again. "Scratch that. I may have just found something. Regroup on the south side of town."

Clint turned and headed quickly in her direction.

Several minutes later, he saw Sharon standing near two brick buildings. She beckoned to him and disappeared between the buildings. Clint hurried into the wide alley.

Sharon was standing at the back, examining a cement block that was covered with graffiti. "What is it?" Clint asked, coming to a stop beside her.

She looked at him. "I found this a few minutes ago. It might be a coincidence, but I thought you should see it."

Frowning, Clint turned to look at the wall. Then his eyes widened as they settled on a small shape that was concealed cleverly among the letters and symbols.

A black hourglass.

* * *

 **Eep! I love Sharon. Maybe it doesn't make a ton of sense why they picked her for the mission, but I just really wanted her in the story. Although I feel like I'm not doing her character justice... Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	15. Chapter 15

Sharon pointed at the hourglass. "The Black Widow's sign," she said quietly.

Clint nodded.

"Do you think it's evidence that she's here?" Sharon asked.

"Maybe," Clint said. He traced the shaped lightly with his finger. "It could be that the KGB sometimes uses this method to communicate. Maybe they were telling someone that they got her. Or maybe _she_ was trying to send _us_ a message."

"Can you read any of the words?" Sharon asked, scanning the tattooed wall with her eyes.

Clint studied some of the Russian words. "Yes, but none if it makes any sense. If it is a message, it must be in code."

"But it could be an indication that the base is close by," Sharon said hopefully.

Clint nodded. "Maybe…" he said, glancing around. Then he looked up towards the top of one of the buildings. "I think I'm gonna get up there. Get a new perspective." He started towards the iron fire escape at the back of the building. "You mind staying down here and keeping a lookout?"

"Sure thing, Barton."

Sharon circled back to the front of the building to keep watch as Clint climbed up the fire escape.

Up on top of the four-story building, with the cool breezes ruffling his hair, Clint felt more at home. He walked to the edge of the roof and stood looking out over the city. It was nearing five PM, and the sun was just beginning its descent.

Unbidden, Clint's mind flashed to Natasha. It struck him abruptly how much he missed her. It had only been three days since he'd last seen her, but it felt like longer. A memory stirred in his mind; sitting in the hotel diner with Natasha, when he'd been so worried about her.

 _"Even if I did get captured by those soviet maniacs, I know you'd break me out,"_ she'd said. _"You always do. That's why I can always count on you."_

His resolve was strengthened as he remembered her words. They would find her, if they had to turn Korocha upside-down to do it.

His thoughts were interrupted by Sharon's voice in his earpiece.

"Hawkeye, citizen approaching," she said. "Coming in at one o' clock. He looks familiar."

Clint looked down and saw a figure making his way through the crowd. He was about a fifty yards away, but he was striding quickly towards the building Clint was standing on.

Clint's pulse quickened as he recognized him. He dropped to his stomach on the coarse roof and pressed a finger to his earpiece.

"You've got to get out of there, Widow – Thirteen," he corrected himself. He looked down and saw Sharon hurrying away from the building.

"Who is it?" she asked.

Clint's eyes narrowed with loathing as he said the name.

"Dmitri Kedrov."

Clint watched as Kedrov approached the building and circled around to the back. Clint got up and noiselessly moved to the back of the roof to watch Kedrov.

Kedrov stopped at a back entrance and glanced furtively around. Then he produced a keyring and let himself into the building.

Clint contacted Sharon. "He's in the building, Thirteen. Come back now, but proceed with caution."

"I'm en route."

Clint went back to the fire escape and cautiously climbed down. When he reached the ground, Sharon was there.

"Do you think that's the base?" she asked, looking apprehensively at the brick structure.

Clint followed her gaze, eying the building appraisingly. "Only one way to find out." He looked at her. "We're going to have to go in."

"Do we have a plan?" Sharon asked.

He nodded. "We enter through a window. Then we carry out a search of the entire building. We'll decide our next move based on what we find."

Sharon nodded decisively and followed Clint around the back of the building to a window.

Cautiously, Clint opened his knife and slipped it under the window latch. After he twisted it around a little, a sharp _click_ sounded, and Clint glanced at Sharon.

"Gun out," he instructed, returning his knife to his pocket. It briefly crossed his mind that Nat's gun would already have been out by then.

Sharon pulled her pistol out of its holster and cocked it.

Clint glanced quickly around before carefully sliding the window upward. Then, he cautiously stepped through the opening.

He was in a small, dusty room, completely devoid of furniture. From what Clint could see through the door, the dim room beyond seemed to be equally empty.

Sharon climbed through the window behind him. He motioned her to be silent as he slowly approached the doorway, bow out and ready.

He peered around the corner, but no one was there.

"All clear," he whispered; and they proceeded into the next room.

Usually, when Clint and Natasha searched a potentially dangerous structure, they would take turns progressing. Clint would cover Natasha as she moved from one safe spot to the next, then she would do the same for him.

So it threw him a little when Sharon began walking briskly from one room to the next, muttering, "No one here," as he treaded anxiously behind her, always worrying that Kedrov would be in the next one. It was a more confident, straightforward approach. Not very subtle, but on the other hand, it was a lot quicker.

They covered the whole level without finding anyone, then took the elevator up to the next level.

It was the same with all four levels. They made quick work of all the rooms, but found no one.

"I just don't get it," Clint muttered as they took the elevator down from the top level. "The guy just vanished. Maybe he left through a different door."

"Or maybe, there's another explanation," Sharon said suddenly. Clint looked at her expectantly. She pointed at a button on the elevator wall that read 'Basement Level.'

Clint's mind raced as he stared at the button. "Wait a minute…" he murmured. "A city is an odd place for a resource base, but what if you hide it _under_ the city?"

Sharon's eyes widened as she grasped his meaning.

"We found it," she said in amazement.

* * *

 **I hope I'm not making Sharon seem dumb - I'm just trying to highlight the fact that she's out of her comfort zone and, more importantly, the fact that Clint doesn't work with anyone as well as he works with Natasha.**

 **Speaking of Natasha, where is she?! I know, I know, I'm sorry she hasn't been in the story for a while. But don't worry, in the next chapter, Clintasha will be reunited!... kind of.**


	16. Chapter 16

"Well, the good news is, if the base is just in the basement, it can't be too big," Clint observed as they stepped out of the elevator.

"And the bad news is, there's no way for us to get down there without them seeing us. I mean, it's not like we can go through a window," Sharon said.

"Well, maybe we won't have to," Clint replied.

Sharon frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we don't have to go down to them. We'll just let them come up to us. Now, listen," he went on. "When they get up here, shoot as many of them as you can, but especially target Kedrov, because he's their leader. Stay hidden until they get up here, and don't shoot until I do. Any questions?"

"Just… how are you gonna get them up here?"

Clint pulled an arrow out of his quiver. "Watch and learn."

He fitted the arrow to his bow and pulled the bowstring tight, feeling the uncomfortable pressure on his injured arm. "Also… you may want to step back a little."

Sharon retreated to the edge of the room.

Clint aimed upward and shot the ceiling, then ran quickly away from the spot. The arrow shuddered in place for a moment, then suddenly, it exploded, and debris poured down onto the floor.

"Okay, get out of sight," Clint said tensely. "Any minute now."

They both retreated into adjoining rooms on opposite sides and listened with bated breath for sounds of activity.

Seconds later, the doors of all three elevators slid open, and dozens of armed guards trooped into the room. Kedrov was the last to step out of the elevator, and he joined his men in staring at the hole in the ceiling in bewilderment.

Abruptly, Clint jumped through the doorway and began shooting arrows repeatedly at them. Once the guards had overcome their shock, they all united in shooting back at him.

Clint jumped back into the safety of the smaller room as bullets peppered the thick wall. Then he heard Sharon open fire on their exposed backs, taking out countless men.

"Nice work," he muttered into his earpiece.

When the enemies got over their initial surprise of finding another threat present, they began shooting at Sharon. At that point, Clint stepped through the doorway and continued firing at them.

Clint and Sharon worked quickly and seamlessly, and despite the odds, held up well. Kedrov was a proficient leader, and under his direction, the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were so busy defending themselves that they had no opportunity to target Kedrov himself. But as the battle went on, their spirits rose with the casualty count.

They had been fighting for nearly ten minutes when Clint saw desperation in Kedrov's eyes. He raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth. Clint was unable to hear his voice over the gunshots, but he saw Kedrov's mouth form the words, _"_ Мне нужно мужчин на первом этаже в настоящее время! Все вы, получите здесь!"

Clint's hopes deflated a little.

"He's calling for backup," he informed Sharon, who was still shooting fiercely from the opposite side of the room.

She was silent for a minute, then said, "I have an idea. Do you have any more of those exploding arrows?"

"Yeah."

"On my mark, shoot the ceiling over Kedrov's head."

"Got it," he replied as he sent one of his arrows through two enemies' skulls.

Moments later, the elevator doors opened and another score of men poured into the room, guns at the ready. As Clint set to work shooting several of the men, Sharon suddenly cried, _"Now!"_

Clint nocked one of his exploding arrows and shot above Kedrov's head. The arrow blew up, and large chunks of the ceiling rained down on the enemy.

As the men shouted in surprise and scattered away from the explosion site, Sharon yelled across the room, "Cover me!" Then she took advantage of the cleared path to Kedrov, who was buried under the rubble, and ran forward.

Clint felled many gunmen who tried to shoot her as she crouched beside Kedrov's prostrate form. Then, suddenly, Sharon jumped to her feet.

 _"Drop your guns now!"_ she shouted above the commotion.

Everyone looked at her. She was clutching an unconscious Kedrov and pressing a gun to his head.

"Drop your weapons or your leader dies!" Sharon said authoritatively.

There was a long pause, and Clint held his breath. Then, slowly, the men started laying down their weapons and raising their hands in surrender.

"Get down on the floor," Sharon ordered, as Clint approached her.

As the men slowly lowered themselves onto their faces, Clint said, "Great work, Agent Thirteen. I'm gonna go find Nat, you keep an eye on them. You have permission to kill any of them if the need arises, except Kedrov. Okay?"

He saw something indefinable flicker behind her eyes, then she nodded.

"Contact me if you need help," Clint added before stepping into the elevator.

 _olxlo_

Clint sprinted through the small underground base, looking into every room and checking every corridor. It was hushed and deserted, as all of the guards had gone upstairs to answer Kedrov's summons. His footsteps echoed hollowly in the empty rooms.

Finally, he threw open a door at the end of the hallway and found a person sitting placidly at a table.

It was a tiny, white-haired old man in a white laboratory coat. He was leaning forward across the table, hands folded serenely, and a sardonic smile twisting his features.

"Ah, Mr. Barton," he purred in a strong Russian accent. "I wondered how long it would be before you graced us with your presence."

"Who are you?" Clint inquired darkly, his hand tightening on his bow.

"I am Yevgeny Polzin. I created the Black Widow."

In a heartbeat, Clint had an arrow nocked to the string and pointed threateningly at Polzin.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

Polzin laughed scornfully. "Ah, there is no need for that, возлюбленный _,"_ he said scathingly. "I will be more than happy to fetch Natalia for you."

Clint narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Polzin took a handheld radio out of his pocket and raised it to his mouth. "Please come into my office, милая _,"_ he said silkily.

A few seconds passed, then Clint's heart skipped a beat as he heard Natasha's voice over the radio:

"On my way."

Clint kept his eyes trained on Polzin, who smiled calmly as they waited. He could feel his heart racing as he listened intently.

Brisk footsteps approached the door, and Clint turned expectantly. His palms felt damp against his bow as the noise grew louder.

The door opened and she stepped into the room.

Clint's heart jumped into his mouth when he saw her. She looked pale and tired, but other than that, just the same. He lowered his bow, emotions churning through him.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her expression froze when she saw Clint. Her eyes widened, and Clint took a step towards her.

"Natasha," he began, but suddenly, she flattened herself against the wall, pure terror in her eyes.

"Don't touch me! Don't come any closer!" she cried, her voice shaking with fear.

Confusion reigned in Clint's mind, and he took another step forward.

"Tasha, what's wrong? It's me, Clint," he said gently.

She dropped to the floor and huddled into the corner, making herself as small as possible. "Please," she begged, her voice breaking. "Don't hurt me."

Bewildered, Clint turned back to Polzin. The Russian was watching the scene with an expression of the utmost enjoyment.

Clint's confusion was replaced with cold fury. "What have you done with her," he said quietly, stepping towards Polzin.

Polzin's eyes gleamed. "It is my intent to erase all her memories of Shield. But that takes time, and I wanted a more immediate effect in case you decided to come after her. So, first, I decided to make a few modifications." He smiled mockingly. "I only changed her memories of you, Hawkeye. She believes you have come here to kill her."

* * *

 **I had a blast writing this chapter! And I cannot WAIT to hear your guys' thoughts on it! :D**

 **Мне нужно мужчин на первом этаже в настоящее время! Все вы получите здесь!:** **I need men on the ground floor now! All of you, get up here!**

 **возлюбленный: lover boy**


	17. Chapter 17

**First off, props to ilikehats2 for her observation about Nat being too scared to just hide her fear like she usually does. I was curious to see who would catch onto that! It will be addressed to an extent in this chapter.**

* * *

In a few deft strides, Clint had crossed the room and was gripping Polzin tightly by the throat. Polzin gagged and pulled at Clint's hands, but Clint's gaze was livid and showed no mercy.

With a few ragged breaths, Polzin managed to gasp, "You are scaring Natalia."

Clint hesitated and glanced at Natasha. Her eyes were huge as she stared at the choking scientist in his hands.

Clint turned back to Polzin. He was forced to admit that, as Natasha was already convinced he was heartless, it would be better not to prove it to her by murdering a man in cold blood before her eyes.

Reluctantly, Clint released Polzin, and glared at the soviet as he sucked in huge gulps of air.

"Good choice, Mr. Barton," Polzin managed to say. "That would have upset Natalia. But this will please her." And before Clint had time to react, Polzin was pointing a pistol at him.

 _Bang!_ A gunshot split the air, and Polzin halted, an expression of mingled horror and dismay frozen on his face. Then he crumpled to the ground, dead.

Relief flooded through Clint. He turned to see Sharon standing in the doorway, lowering her gun.

"You're supposed to be watching Kedrov," Clint found himself saying.

"We'll talk about it later," Sharon said simply. "For now we need to get her out of here." She threw her gun down and crouched in front of Natasha. "Romanoff, you okay?"

"Yes," Natasha stammered, her eyes still fixed on Clint.

"Okay, then we need to go. We have a bird, and we're gonna take you back to Shield."

A moment passed.

"I don't want to go back to Shield," Natasha said haltingly.

Sharon blinked. "What? Why not?"

Natasha covered her face with her hands and took a few shuddering breaths. "Because he'll be there," she said finally.

Clint closed his eyes.

"Who will?" Sharon persisted.

"Hawkeye."

Sharon looked at Clint in total bewilderment. He looked sadly back at her.

Sharon turned back to Natasha. "Natasha, look at me."

Natasha peered at Sharon through her fingers.

"You need to come back to Shield. The people here want to hurt you, but you'll be safe at Shield. You have to trust me."

Natasha hesitated. Her eyes flicked towards Clint.

"Just don't let him hurt me," she said finally.

"I won't," Sharon said in relief, preparing to rise.

"Promise!" Natasha cried. "You have to promise you won't let him hurt me!"

Sharon glanced towards Clint, who lowered his head. "I promise," she said. "No one's going to hurt you. Now we have to go."

Natasha nodded and stood up slowly. With one last nervous glance at Clint, she followed Sharon out of the room.

 _olxlo_

Sharon glanced at Natasha, who was huddled on the bench behind them, as the helicopter rose into the air. "So… what happened."

Clint sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "It was Polzin," he said in irritation. "He was messing with her mind, and now she thinks I want to kill her."

"That's awful," Sharon said, horrified.

"I know. But that's not all he did."

"Then what else did he do?"

Clint glanced at Natasha, who was looking silently out the window. "I don't know. But in all the time I've known her, I've never seen her so terrified. And she faces death practically on a daily basis."

Sharon nodded. "So you think he… what, changed her fear threshold?"

Clint just shook his head in mystification.

"Well, I'm sure Banner will know what to do," Sharon said reassuringly; and Clint rounded on her in frustration.

"Don't you get it, Carter? This isn't just some sickness Banner can give her an antibiotic for. He changed her _memories._ Her entire reality has been altered; he rewrote her past. That's permanent, there's nothing we can do about it." Clint's voice broke slightly as he ended, and he turned his face away from Sharon.

"Maybe not," Sharon said optimistically. "Surely Polzin would have created some kind of antidote."

"Well, it's not like we can ask him," Clint pointed out. The he looked back at Sharon. "Speaking of which, thanks for saving my life."

"No problem."

"Even though I told you to keep an eye on Kedrov."

Sharon smiled slightly. "About that."

Clint waited.

"I followed you because I was a little nervous about being left alone with thirty angry Russians."

"Well, they wouldn't have hurt you. They wanted to keep their leader alive."

"I know…" Sharon said slowly. "But I knew it was just a matter of time before they realized Kedrov was dead."

Clint blinked. "Kedrov's dead? What happened?"

"He died when the ceiling fell on him," Sharon said carefully.

Clint frowned. "But after it fell, you went to him. And you threatened to kill him if his men didn't surrender."

Sharon nodded. "Yeah."

Clint stared at her.

Sharon chuckled. "Well it worked, didn't it?"

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Wow, I've really got to hand it to you, Carter," he said in amusement.

"It was nothing. I'm just glad we're both alive," Sharon said simply. Then she glanced over her shoulder at Natasha again. "Barton… I really think you should talk to her," she said softly.

"Are you crazy?" Clint said in disbelief. "She'd probably jump out the window."

"She won't," Sharon said patiently. "I just think if she saw that you're really not going to hurt her, it would help."

"You think?" Clint asked doubtfully.

She shrugged. "Well, it's worth a try."

Clint thought for a moment, then nodded and stood up. He stepped out of the cockpit and sat down beside Natasha.

Instantly, her face went white. "Sharon," she called fearfully.

"I'm right here," Sharon called back. "You're fine, Natasha."

Natasha looked nervously at Clint. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"I just want to talk to you, Natasha," Clint said quietly.

"About what?"

"About… your time in Korocha," Clint said "How did they treat you there?"

Natasha shifted uncomfortably. "Pretty well, I guess. They locked me up at first, but they never hurt me."

"Did they give you any injections?" Clint asked carefully.

"No. Why?"

Clint took a deep breath. "Think, Natasha. Why are you afraid of me?"

"Because you want to hurt me," Natasha said fearfully.

"No, I don't," Clint said, gently laying a hand on her arm.

She jumped. "Don't touch me!" she pleaded, scooting further away from him.

Clint dropped his hand. "Natasha, you were never scared of me before. It was Polzin; he changed your memories."

"No, he didn't," Natasha said, turning her head away from him. "I've always been scared of you. And I don't want to talk to you anymore."

Clint sighed and stood up. "Okay, I'm going. But I'm not going to hurt you, Nat, I swear."

She didn't reply.

Without another word, Clint returned to the cockpit.

* * *

 **So... now Polzin and Kedrov are both off the charts. I thought Polzin's death felt kinda rushed, but idk. I didn't want to give him the privilege of making his death a big deal. x)**

 **And now you see why Sharon reacted the way she did when Clint told her to keep Kedrov alive - because Kedrov was already dead! Oops. Smart move, girl.**


	18. Chapter 18

The car pulled up in front of Avengers Tower, and Clint stepped out. "Thanks for the lift, Sharon," he said through the window.

"No problem," Sharon replied.

Clint looked at Natasha, who hadn't moved from her seat. "You coming, Natasha?"

She hesitated and bit her lip.

Just then, Tony's convertible careened into the parking area. Tony, Steve and Bruce got out.

"Hey Clint, Nat," Steve called out.

Natasha's face relaxed into a smile. "Hey!" she called back, getting out of the car and going over to them.

Clint looked back at Sharon. "Hey, thanks for going to Korocha with me. You were great on the mission."

"Sure thing, Barton," she said with a smile.

Clint hesitated. "Also… could you tell Fury about Nat? I don't want to retell the story any more than I have to."

She nodded understandingly. "Absolutely. Hey, good luck with her."

"Thanks," Clint said as she drove off. Then he turned and slowly followed the other Avengers into the tower.

"So last we heard, you two losers went to Chicago and dropped off the face of the earth," Tony said. "What happened?"

"Long story," Natasha said with a smirk. "I'll tell you about it inside. Where have you guys been?"

"Just got back from Ethiopia," Steve said.

As Tony launched into a detailed description of their doings in Ethiopia, Bruce slowed down and fell into step with Clint. "What's going on, Clint?" he asked quietly.

Clint looked at Natasha, who was grinning as Steve and Tony interrupted each other to tell her about the Africa project. "I'll tell you about it inside," he said.

 _olxlo_

The Avengers sat at the kitchen table; talking, laughing, and eating pizza as they discussed their respective missions. Lacking an appetite, Clint sat slightly apart from the others at the end of the table, watching Natasha.

She seemed just like her normal self, chatting along with the others and threatening to skin them alive. But whenever she glanced in Clint's direction, a shadow passed over her face, and she shuddered.

"Man, this is a great after-party," Tony said at one point. "It'd be even better if Pepper and Thor were here, though."

"Where is Pepper?" Steve asked.

"She's working late tonight. She'll be here later," Tony replied. Then his face lit up. "Hey! I have an idea! Let's have a real party next week and invite Thor, and a bunch of other people! It can be a 'Thank Goodness None Of Us Died On Our Missions' party!"

Natasha groaned. "Oh gosh, please no, Stark. I've been to one of your parties, and it wasn't an experience I'd like to repeat."

"Besides, using that logic, we'd have a party every week," Steve pointed out.

"Hey, that sounds like a great idea!" Tony said.

Everyone groaned.

"What? It was Cap's idea, not mine," Tony said innocently. "So, whaddya think? This Friday?"

"Forget it, Tony. I think we're all ready for some downtime," Bruce said, taking a drink.

"What? Come on; downtime's boring," Tony said. "What do you think, Legolas? You with me?"

Clint looked up. "Um… no, this doesn't feel like a time for celebration," he said.

"Party pooper," Tony muttered.

Natasha glanced at the clock. "Gosh. How can I be this tired at nine thirty?" she said. "Guess I've been a little short on sleep lately." She stood up, heading out of the kitchen. "I'm turning in. Night."

"Night, Tasha," Steve called after her.

When she was gone, everyone turned to look at Clint.

"What's going on, Barton?" Steve asked in concern.

Clint took a deep breath. "When Natasha was in Korocha, this man… Yevgeny Polzin… changed her memories."

Amazement and worry registered on the faces of the other three men.

"Really? She seems fine to me," Tony stated. "I mean, other than the fact that you two aren't as thick as thieves."

"I know," Clint said wearily. "He only changed her memories of me. Now she thinks I want to hurt her." He looked pleadingly at Bruce. "Can't you do something, Banner? She's terrified of me."

Bruce frowned. "I don't know," he said slowly. "This doesn't sound like something I've dealt with before. But I'll sure try."

"What will you do?" Clint asked.

"Well, I can do a brain scan. And maybe ask her some questions to see what's been altered."

"Well, there's something else," Clint said urgently. "She'd not just afraid of me on a normal level. She's full-out panicked, in a way that's not at all like her. Something else is wrong too, but I don't know what."

"Well, I'll see what I can do," Bruce promised. "As long as she agrees to let me check her out."

"Check her out?" Tony repeated, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Bruce stared blankly at him.

"This isn't a joke, Stark," Clint snapped in irritation. "How would you feel if Pepper couldn't stand the sight of you?"

Tony went pale.

Clint sighed. "Do what you have to do," he told Bruce. "Just tell her you want to make sure she'd okay after being held in captivity or something. I'm going to bed." He pushed his chair back and walked out of the kitchen.

 _olxlo_

The next day, Clint was walking quickly down the hallway towards Bruce's office. Natasha was there, and Bruce was about to look her over.

Clint halted outside the door, hearing a familiar voice from inside.

"Stark, shut up or I'll mess up your face better than nature did."

Clint almost smiled at how normal she sounded.

"Okay, what were you saying, Banner?" Natasha continued.

"Just that, we suspect Polzin may have tampered with your mind. We want to do an MRI to make sure everything's okay," Bruce's calm voice said.

"Wouldn't I remember if he did something to my mind?"

"Not necessarily. It's always a possibility that he did something to it, then removed the memory of him doing it."

"I think I'd know it if my brain was out of wack, but if it makes you feel better, then okay."

Clint entered the room. Bruce was standing in front of a computer screen and Tony was rummaging through a stack of papers as Natasha sat in a chair across the small room. Her eyes widened with fear when she noticed Clint, and he saw her tense up.

Bruce and Tony looked up; and Bruce hurried over to Clint.

"Barton, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be in here right now," he said quietly. "I need her to be relaxed so I can ask her some questions."

"Sorry," Clint said. "I just wanted to check up on her."

Bruce nodded understandingly. "Well, I want you to stay out of this area until we're through," he said apologetically.

"Okay," Clint said resignedly, starting for the door. "But you'll call me if there are any developments, right?"

"You'll be the first to know," Bruce promised as he shut the door.

* * *

 **Hopefully this chapter wasn't too boring - it's one of those that's a little slow but kind of necessary.**

 **Reviews are always appreciated and read 300 times over. :D**


	19. Chapter 19

**AH, so sorry about the long wait! The site had a glitch, as you may have noticed! x)**

 **Anyway, if anyone's even interested in this story anymore, here's my personal favorite chapter! :)**

* * *

Clint raced through the hallways and pushed open the door of Bruce's office, tearing in without breaking his stride.

Bruce was sitting down at a table, dejectedly peeling off his rubber gloves, and Tony was leaning on the edge of a counter near him.

"What happened, did you find out what's going on?" Clint asked breathlessly.

Bruce sighed and took off his glasses, polishing them on his lab coat before returning them to his face.

"That Polzin guy really did a number on her," he said.

Clint's heart sank. "There's nothing you can do," he said bitterly.

"I didn't say that," Bruce said.

"There is something you can do?" Clint asked hopefully.

"Didn't say that either."

"What are you saying, then?" Clint sat down across from Bruce.

Bruce took a deep breath. "Okay. You know how you said you thought Polzin did something else to her besides changing her memories?"

"Yes?"

"Well, he didn't."

"What?" Clint said. "Then why…" his voice trailed off in confusion.

"Well," Bruce began. "Polzin said he changed all her memories of you. That's one way of putting it. A more accurate way of putting it would be, well…" Bruce paused. "This is hard to explain, but the reason she's so terrified of you is because, essentially, he took the memories of every time she's been in physical pain her entire life, and made her think you're responsible for each time."

"What!" Clint yelped. "How is that even possible?"

"I'm not sure, but I think he isolated all data in her perirhinal cortex associated with nociception, and introduced-"

"No," Clint interrupted. "I mean, how could he make her think I'm responsible for all the pain she's experienced in her whole life, when I haven't even known her her whole life?"

Bruce frowned in concentration. "It's hard to explain," he said slowly. "It's not that he inserted specific memories of you hurting her all those times. It's more that he…" Bruce gestured with his hands, grasping for words. "Correlated those memories… with evidence that you were involved. That's why she keeps accusing you of wanting to hurt her."

In response to Clint's look of puzzlement, Bruce sighed. "Let me explain it this way. Memory is divided into two categories: semantic memory and episodic memory. Semantic memory is factual memory, so an example of semantic memory would be Natasha remembering that you two are friends. Episodic memory is memory of specific events, like Natasha remembering a day when you two hung out together as friends.

"Polzin only altered her semantic memory. He made her think it was a fact that you are the source of all her pain. But he left her episodic memory intact, so she doesn't have specific recollections of you hurting her. So she thinks you hurt her, but she doesn't remember you actually… hurting her." Bruce frowned again, looking like he had even confused himself. "Make sense?"

"I think I get the idea," Clint said. "Basically, she thinks it was my fault every time she's gotten hurt. Which is a lot of times. Great. Can we fix it?"

Bruce hesitated. "This science is a little beyond me, but it's possible that the implanted memories haven't fully settled yet. If that's the case, we can rival the new memories with evidence that they're false."

"How long before the memories become concrete?" Clint asked quickly.

"Well… best case scenario, it could take a week or two."

"What about worst case scenario?"

Bruce grimaced. "She was in Korocha for several days, during which time all the false memories were confirmed as true. So worst case scenario, they're already permanent."

Clint groaned. "So how do we rival the false memories?" he asked.

"There are two ways," Bruce said carefully. "The first thing we can do is have you show her that you won't hurt her, by acting unthreatening towards her. And reminding her of memories when you didn't harm her."

"I've already been trying that, it's not working," Clint said. "What's the other way?"

"Well, maybe the memories weren't positive enough, so they didn't elicit a strong enough reaction to-" Bruce began, but Clint interrupted him.

"Banner. What's the other way."

Again Bruce hesitated. "You aren't going to like it, Clint."

"Tell me!" Clint persisted.

Bruce sighed in defeat. "Well… she thinks all her pain was inflicted by you, right? So the other thing we could do would be to exact pain on her, to show her that it comes from other sources besides you. And it would have to be intense enough to counter the false memories; just a pinch wouldn't cut it."

Clint clenched his fists. "How intense are we talking?"

Bruce closed his eyes. "If we could exert pain that was about the equivalent of, say, setting her on fire-"

"WHAT!" Clint leapt to his feet.

"Relax, Robin Hood," Tony said. "He didn't say we're actually going to set her on fire. He said pain that hurt as _much_ as being set on fire. Which, to be fair, she's probably felt before."

"I DON'T CARE!" Clint hollered. "WE PROMISED HER THAT NO ONE WOULD HURT HER HERE!"

"Stop yelling, Clint," Bruce said. "If you're that much against it, we won't do it."

Clint relaxed a little. "I am," he said, sitting down again.

"Although, you do realize it might be the only way to fix her."

"I don't care," Clint said, starting to get excited again.

"Okay so that's out," Bruce said quickly.

Clint frowned. "What was the other thing you said we could do again?"

"Show her that you wouldn't harm her by acting unthreatening towards her. And also, reminding her of memories when you didn't harm her. But they have to be really strong, positive memories for it to work."

Clint stood up. "Okay," he said hesitantly. "I'll give it a try."

 _olxlo_

Clint found Natasha at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of water and massaging her temples. She recoiled slightly when he walked in, but didn't bolt, which he took as a good sign.

"Hey Nat. How you feeling?" Clint tried to smile.

She eyed him warily. "I'm okay. Bruce asked me a bunch of questions, and now my head hurts for some reason."

"Really? Did you tell him that?" Clint asked with genuine concern.

"Yeah. He told me to take aspirin, so I did."

"Hm." Clint walked past her into the kitchen. "Well, I was gonna make some coffee. Want some?"

She shrugged, which Clint took as a yes.

Pretty soon, a pot of coffee was brewing in the machine.

"Hey, now that we're back, maybe we can take a day off," Clint suggested. "Go to a carnival or something."

Fear showed in Natasha's eyes, and she shook her head.

"Hey, we've gone before," Clint said gently. "Remember when we went last year, and you won all those prizes at the shooting gallery?"

She nodded.

"That was fun, right?"

She nodded again. This time, Clint thought he saw the tiniest flash of confusion in her face. He could have been imagining it.

Clint poured two mugs of coffee and went to the table. "Here," he said, holding one across the table to her. Her fingers brushed against his slightly as she took the mug, and she flinched from the contact.

"Thanks," she muttered without meeting his eyes.

Clint went around to the other side of the table and sat down next to her, blowing on his coffee to cool it.

"So why was Banner asking you questions?" he asked.

"He just wanted to make sure I'm okay," Natasha replied, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly.

"And are you?" Clint touched her shoulder in concern; and she jerked, slamming her cup down on the table and jumping to her feet.

"I have to go find Steve," she stammered; and ran for the door.

In the doorway, she bumped into Steve, who was just coming in. She pushed past him and disappeared into the hallway.

Steve watched her go, then turned to Clint. "What just happened?"

"This is useless!" Clint exclaimed in frustration. "She hates the sight of me, she cringes whenever I touch her. It's like she's here, but really, she's still in Korocha!"

Clint stood up and stalked out into the hall, leaving the two mugs of coffee to cool on the table.

* * *

 **So... that may have been boring, but I had an absolute BLAST writing it. Really hope everything is intelligible/believable. Would love some reviews after having to go without hearing from all you lovely people for so long! :)**

 **Hm... my poor babies have been through a lot. It's about time to give them their happy ending, dontcha think? x)**


	20. Chapter 20

That evening at dinner, Clint sat at the end of the table again, watching with an empty feeling as Natasha chattered and laughed with Steve. Once again, he had no appetite, and only pushed his food around his plate without interest.

It was no use. Natasha would never regain her memories; in fact, the fake ones were probably permanent already. Nothing he could do would ever change that.

He thought back to that day in the hotel when she had told him how much she trusted him. How she knew he always had her back, and never gave up trying.

She was wrong.

Sadness threatening to drown him, Clint pushed back his chair and walked quickly out of the kitchen. Being with her was too painful. He would just go to bed.

He was halfway down the hall when a voice stopped him.

"Wait, Barton."

She sounded so much like herself that he turned around eagerly, but she winced when he looked at her and took a step back. His heart sank again.

"What is it?" he asked, disappointed.

She hesitated and bit her lip, looking confused. "Just… where are you going?"

"To bed."

"But don't you want to…" She gestured towards the kitchen.

Clint shook his head. "No." He held her gaze for a moment longer before turning again and continuing down the hall. She didn't try to stop him, but he could feel her eyes on his back as he stepped into the elevator.

As he rode down to his floor, an ember of hope glowed inside him. She had stopped him, she had wanted him to stay. Surely that meant she was starting to remember?

But the ember burned out as quickly as it was lit. Even if she gradually started to remember bits and pieces, there was no way she could remember everything in just two weeks. That is, if the memories hadn't set in already.

Clint went into his room, changed, and crawled into bed. As he lay there in silence, he thought back on all his memories of Natasha. How they'd been a team. And even more than that.

And he knew they could never have that again. Even if she eventually learned to tolerate him, she would never want to spend time with him, let alone go on missions with him. Not after everything she thought he'd done.

Clint closed his eyes and let exhaustion wash over him, glad to escape from his gloomy reflections and go to sleep.

olxlo

He suddenly jerked awake at a knock at his door. He rolled over heavily and looked at his clock. It was just past midnight.

"Come in," Clint called hoarsely.

His door swung open, and Natasha walked into the room.

Clint sat bolt upright. "What is it?" he asked quickly.

She didn't answer right away. Then she took a deep breath. "I was just – in my room and I found this."

She held out her hand, and the moonlight glinted off a silver arrow necklace.

Clint gazed at it, remembering when he'd given it to Natasha; just before she'd left for a mission with Steve in DC. _A good memory._

Suddenly, Natasha covered her face with her hands. "I remember everything," she said brokenly. "I don't know what to say, Clint. I'm so, so sorry." She fell silent, her shoulders heaving with emotion.

Clint stood up, looking at her in disbelief. He vaguely wondered if he was dreaming.

"You… you really remember?" he found himself saying.

A tiny sob escaped her.

Clint stepped forward. Carefully, he lifted his hands and took hold of her shoulders.

She didn't flinch.

It was as if a wall had been broken down, and all his emotions came flooding through. He pulled her to him and hugged her tightly. She wrapped her arms securely around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

Clint squeezed his eyes shut and raised a hand to his face as tears began to stream out of his eyes.

Natasha turned her face into his neck. "Don't cry," he felt her murmur, even as her own tear dropped onto his shoulder.

"You're back," was all he could say.

After several minutes, Clint pulled back, studying her face anxiously. "Are you okay? I mean, all those memories… that's pretty major, do you feel okay? Do you have a headache? Do you-?"

His words were cut off suddenly as Natasha pressed her mouth to his. He froze in surprise, then responded with enthusiasm, moving his hands down to her waist as she raked her fingers through his hair.

Natasha pulled away, smiling up at him. "I've never been better."

Clint grinned back and pulled Natasha onto his bed. He leaned against the headboard and put his arm around her as she curled up at his side.

Natasha looked up into his face. "You're smiling," she said mischievously. "Haven't seen that in a while."

Clint tried to remember the last time he'd smiled. He was pretty sure it had been in the hotel, before they'd found Mayer in the warehouse.

"So, your false memories. What was it like?" he coaxed.

Natasha furrowed her brow in concentration. "It was like… whenever I thought of a time when I was hurt, I thought of you, like you were… synonymous with pain, somehow. And I can still remember the false memories, but they seem dimmer now. And they're getting fainter the longer I'm with you."

"Then you should never go away from me again," Clint said, leaning his head against hers.

Suddenly, she sat up, looking at him anxiously. "Clint… about Chicago. You were right. They told me I had to make you believe me, or they would kill you. So I did, but… you didn't really believe me, did you?" She searched his face worriedly.

Clint pulled her back to him again. "Not for one second," he said reassuringly; and he felt her relax. "I was acting because I could tell how much you needed me to believe you. But now I wish I hadn't, because then they wouldn't have taken you back to Russia."

"Well, it turned out alright, didn't it?" Natasha murmured contentedly.

Clint looked down at her as she relaxed calmly against him, her hair tumbling across his chest. And not afraid of him. Wanting to be with him. He was still worried that he would wake up and realize it was all a dream.

"Yes," he replied. "It did turn out alright."

And he swore to himself that he would never take Natasha for granted again.

Several minutes passed in silence. Clint savored the time with her, time he'd thought he would never have again.

Eventually he looked down and saw that her eyes were closed.

"Tasha?" he mumbled sleepily.

She didn't reply.

Clint gently brushed her hair off her forehead. "I love you," he whispered, as drowsiness settled over him.

olxlo

When Clint woke up, it took him a moment to remember why he was so happy. Then he opened his eyes and saw Natasha, and he remembered.

They were lying in his bed, back to front, with Clint's arms wrapped protectively around Natasha's waist. The memories of the conversation from the night came flooding back, and Clint was relieved to find that it hadn't been a dream.

He lifted his head and looked at Natasha. She was still asleep, and breathing deeply. She looked utterly relaxed and peaceful, and as Clint watched, a tiny smile played at her lips.

He smiled blissfully to himself, then decided to get up and change into his clothes. He started to extricate himself from Natasha, but as soon as he moved his arms, her grip on them tightened.

Clint chuckled under his breath and managed to slip his arms out of her grasp. Then he slid out from under the warm covers and changed in the brisk room.

Just as he finished, there was movement from the bed. Clint looked over, and saw Natasha roll onto her back and reach to the other side of the bed. Suddenly, she sat upright, her eyes wide with fright.

When she saw Clint, she sighed in relief and flopped onto her back again. "Don't scare me like that, Clint," she groaned.

"Sorry," Clint said with a grin. "You hungry?" His stomach growled, and he realized he was truly hungry for the first time in days.

"You bet." Natasha sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching. Then she stood up. "I'm gonna go get dressed. You go ahead, I'll be upstairs in a sec."

His reluctance must have shown in his face, because she laughed. "Wow, don't look so excited about it," she joked, drawing closer to him. "It's just right down the hall. I'll be up in like thirty seconds."

"I know," Clint said, moving his hands up her arms. "I just feel like… if I let you out of my sight, something will happen, like you'll forget."

"I'm not going to forget," Natasha said with conviction. "And if I did, you could just wave my necklace in front of my eyes."

She smiled impishly at him as she ducked out of his arms and exited the room.

Clint was glad she was so confident, but he couldn't help feeling doubtful as she vanished down the hallway. He'd only just found her, and he didn't want to lose her again.

olxlo

Clint paced nervously around the kitchen, repeatedly glancing at the door. Tony, Steve, and Bruce watched his movements in confusion, but refrained from commenting.

Then Clint heard footsteps coming towards the door He stopped pacing and watched the doorway expectantly.

Seconds later, Natasha walked into the room. Clint took one look at her face and sighed in relief. He knew then that he wouldn't have to worry about her regaining those false memories ever again.

"Sleep well, Natasha?" Bruce asked as she slid into a seat.

"Actually, yeah, I did," she replied.

"No nightmares, then?" Bruce added.

"Nope," Natasha said. "No nightmares."

She and Clint exchanged a secret smile, both knowing that last night had not been a night for bad dreams. It had been a night for good memories.

* * *

 **If you made it all the way to the end of this story, go you! That was a fun ride! I hope the ending was okay - hope it didn't seem rushed, or lackluster.**

 **Also, whether you've been here since I posted Chapter One or you just found this story yesterday, I would love to hear from you! What did you think of 'Reclaimed'? :)**


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